The Bright Bird
by Windborn
Summary: When her parents died, Wren was put into the care of Elrond Halfelven. Herself half-Elven, plagued by visions, she was never permitted to leave the valley and became a recluse. Now the Fellowship gathers - can she overcome her fears and aid them? R/R!
1. The Bird in the Glen

The Bright Bird

I think it amazing the way some people think so much alike, though they have never met or spoken, and live many leagues apart.  This story which I now put before you has been in my head for nearly a week now, as a daydream, but this morning when I found LOTR fanfictions, I decided I should type it up.  I was startled when I read "Legolas's Beloved" which spoke of Aiwë, meaning small bird, for in my story is a character named Wren, called Bright Bird, or Little Bird as an endearment, who falls in love with Legolas Greenleaf.  It appears that only a Bird would suit as a partner for this Elven prince.  

*Disclaimer - All characters and locations in this story are Tolkien originals, save those which I have created myself.  I have borrowed nothing from other fanfictions.  If you don't recognize a name, the individual is probably of my own creation.  "Elrond's Hunters" however, I count as my idea, though most of those characters are Tolkien's.  Elladan and Elrohir seemed to me to be more than mere scouts, so I created a title for a group of skilled warrior-scouts called hunters.  I don't think that term was used in the book, though my brain may be deceiving me on that one.  

This story runs alongside The Lord of the Rings, beginning when the hobbits and Aragorn (and Galdalf) reach Rivendell, after Elrond has healed Frodo.

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Part 1 :  The Bird in the Glen

            Sam had fallen asleep in the chair beside his master's bed, and Gandalf did not have the heart to wake him, not even to tell him that Frodo was now out of danger.  Weary from the strain of helping Elrond save the young Hobbit, the Wizard, too, now wished to rest, but there was one last issue he had to see to first.  Though it did not pertain to the quest of the Ring, it was still of some importance to him.  He stood.

            "That was well and kindly done, old friend," Gandalf said, turning to Elrond.  "I fear he would not have lasted much longer without your aid."

            "In but a few hours more there would have been nothing even Elves could do for him.  He was indeed fortunate.  I am amazed that he lasted this long,"  Elrond replied severely.  His expression then softened into a tired smile.  "Hobbits are indeed wondrous creatures.  So resilient."

            Gandalf chuckled.  "Indeed.  But now that we can do nothing but let dear Frodo sleep, there is something else I would discuss with you."

            Elrond arched an eyebrow.  "Yes?"

            "How is our Ever-Child?"

            "She is much the same as when you last saw her, Gandalf," Elrond answered with a sigh.  "Her spirit strengthens, her wisdom increases, and her mind remains that of a young Elf-Maid.  Her skill with the knife and with horses is surpassed only by my sons, she is their equal in tracking and archery, and none can match her in stealth.  I do not understand how she manages."  The Wizard and Elf-Lord left Frodo's room that they might speak a little easier.  "The only real difference is that now she spends even more time alone.  She and my daughter have had a falling-out, it seems."

            Gandalf snorted.  "That does not displease you, I imagine.  What happened?  They were as close as sisters when last I was here."

            Elrond did not answer for few moments.  Finally he said, "You know why I always disapproved of their closeness, my friend.  There is something about her I do not trust.  I love here as dearly as if she was my own, but the way her manner switches so suddenly from that of a child to like unto the Wise troubles me.  Arwen called her 'Little Sister,' yet she is Arwen's senior by nearly half a century.  That is not much to my people, yet it is enough to be recognized."

            "It is indeed strange," Gandalf admitted.  "What broke their friendship?"

            Now Elrond laughed softly.  "Apparently Wren met Aragorn, and Arwen happened upon them whilst the two were speaking.  It is, I suppose, out of jealousy that Arwen will no longer speak to Wren, despite the latter's assurance that they only spoke of the goings-on of the world.  So Wren wanders the gardens alone, though it seems to trouble her not at all."

            "While her heart weeps for friendship, I imagine," Gandalf replied.  "That is why she was brought here by her father, remember, because of the dislike Men of that time held for the Half-Elven girl.  She chose the life of the Elves rather than of Men, yet because her mother, not her father, was of the race of Men she is more like them than, say, you are."

            "Yet no less Elvish than I."  Elrond was thoughtful for a moment.  "I wish her parents had not been killed.  Even her mortal mother would have been a great help in raising her.  I wonder if that is not part of why her mind remains so young?"

            "It may be.  I shall have to speak with her while I am here, if I can find the time.  You mentioned earlier that a council is gathering?"

            "Of its own accord, yes," Elrond stated with a nod.  "The Free Peoples are sending representatives here to seek council on the troubles in their own lands.  They shall arrive nearly at the same time."

            "Hmmm."  Gandalf looked thoughtfully back towards Frodo's room.  "I shall return to keep an eye on him until he wakes - that should please Sam.  However, I shall need to speak to these representatives as soon as they arrive.  Wren, I am guessing, will once again hide herself until all guests are gone?"

            "Actually, no.  She is making herself useful this time, acting as a stable-hand, seeing to the beasts of burden the visitors bring with them.  Her curiosity is at last overcoming her fear of rejection."  Elrond sounded pleased.

            Gandalf laughed.  "Good!  Though I imagine your guests would be horrified if they knew the stable-hand was actually a Lady of your House."  Their discussion turned to other, darker matters then, as they made their way through the Last Homely House, towards the Hall of Fire, to spread the news that Frodo was now on the mend.

            Looking across the Hall, Gandalf could see a small individual pacing across a short distance, looking quite distressed, while another figure sat watching him.  This one was Elvish in appearance, and seemed torn between sympathy for her friend's anxiety and amusement at how he chose to deal with it.  It was towards these two Gandalf went first, while Elrond strode to his seat at the end of the hall, where he would announce Frodo's recovery in a more formal manner.

            The Elf-Woman looked up and stood as Gandalf approached.  She smiled tentatively.  "Mithrandir, I am glad to see you again."  Her small companion stopped pacing and faced the Wizard, his expression frantic.  "I hope," she added, "that you bring good news.  Otherwise Bilbo is going to wear through the floor with all of this back and forth!"

            "Good news?"  Gandalf asked.  "Well, yes I suppose the news I have would indeed be good to some, though very bad to others."

            Bilbo was ready to explode with frustration.  "Now is not the time for speaking in riddles, Gandalf!" he exclaimed.  "Tell me plainly!  How is Frodo?"

            "Your dear nephew is sleeping, my friend," the Wizard replied somberly.  "He has had a very close scrape and will probably sleep for a few more days, but he is on the mend, thanks to the care of Master Elrond."

            The elderly Hobbit was so relieved his knees gave out and he sat down on the floor.  Gandalf helped him to his feet again.  "If you like, Bilbo, you may join Samwise in keeping an eye on him until he wakes.  Just don't wake Sam!  He is sleeping as well.  This has been very hard on him."

            "Of course, of course!"  Bilbo was overjoyed.  "I shall go at once.  Thank you!"  He started off, then paused and turned back to the Elf-Maid.  "You should come as well.  Perhaps you could sing for him and ease his resting."

            "Perhaps," she replied.  "First I would speak with Master Gandalf, then I shall see to your nephew, if he and Master Elrond approve."  Bilbo nodded and left.

            Gandalf chuckled.  "When did you start seeking the approval of your elders, Little Bird?  Last I was here you did not see a need for it."

            "Nor do I now," she replied steadily.  "However, I needed a reason to speak with you alone, and the little Master does not yet know of my - hmmm - willfulness.  Come, let us talk outside.  Elrond will announce Frodo's recovery in a moment, and then it will be impossible to hear well enough to think in here."  

            They walked out into the nearest courtyard and Gandalf sat down on a stone bench.  Wren walked softly to a nearby fountain and sat on its edge, trailing her long fingers in the water.  Birds sang in a nearby bush - one fluttered out and alighted near her feet, peering intently up at her.  It was tiny, of a finch-type, and she smiled at it and whistled softly.  It replied in kind, then rejoined its fellows in the shrub.  

            "You still speak to animals," Gandalf observed.  "That is a wonderful gift to have."

            Wren laughed brightly.  "It is indeed!  They listen better even than Elves, and do not complain if I go on at length.  Nor do they have any reservations about my blood.  Many of them are half-bloods, too, mongrels, hybrids.  They do not care.  Birds especially enjoy hearing about the wide world from different perspectives.  Though I fear I cannot tell them much."  She frowned.  "I have not left Imladris for any great length of time since I first came here."

            "There has been no need," Gandalf countered.  "Aside from learning to track and hunt you have never had any real reason to leave." 

            She laughed again.  "Which is why I ask so often to be trained, even when there are none better than I to train me!  As long as I am learning, I am permitted to leave.  So I often beg Elrond's sons for aid in some small thing I have not yet mastered, and they take pity on the small Ever-Child and take her out of the valley to teach her."  She sobered.  "They have no knowledge of how far I wander while learning stealth.  _They_ cannot track _me_ unless I let them, so often I will give their skill the slip and go wandering.  Often for hours, once for several days."  Wren smiled coldly.  "They were worried, but we had quite a laugh once they finally 'found me.'  I had spent the entire last day following them quite closely.  They never noticed."  She looked back into the fountain.

            Gandalf sighed.  "Some get the Sea-Longing, you have Wanderlust.  Small wonder, since your mother was one of the first of the Rangers."

            She looked up sharply, no trace of childish innocence in her now.  "I did not realize Rangers came into existence so early.  I thought they only appeared after the break in the line of kings."

            "No.  Even during the days of Gondor's glory Númenorians would often take to wandering the Wild as scouts, Rangers, if they felt they for some reason did not belong in Gondor."

            "Lovely," Wren sighed.  "So this lack of belonging is a family trait."

            "Speak no ill of your mother's line, child!" the Wizard demanded.  "She was a second-cousin to Valandil of Anor, and of the line of Elendil, but her father was only half Númenorian, half something shorter, less noble.  Fortunately the only trait your mother acquired from that other race was the lesser height.  She lost none of the nobility of her blood.  Though obviously the lack of height is passed on, since you are considered small even among Men."

            "And my father was a distant relation to Elrond, slain by Orcs while trying to bring my ailing mother to Rivendell.  I have heard the story before.  It makes my own isolation no easier."

            Gandalf looked up into the trees above him, listening for a moment to the rush of a nearby waterfall.  After a brief pause he said softly.  "I suppose not.  I heard about the disagreement between you and Arwen."

            "Foolish," Wren scoffed.  "I have no reason to try to steal her love from her, but Aragorn and I are kin.  Upon learning that, I wished to know all he could tell me about the world, from the eyes of Númenor.  I heard her there, and should have said something I suppose, but was so engrossed in what he was saying I did not wish to interrupt.  She could have spoken.  Foolish," she said again, "of both of us."

            Silence fell between them for a few minutes then.  Night was falling and the sounds of birds were fading, replaced by the songs of other night-creatures.  A star appeared overhead.

            Finally, Wren broke the silence.  "Well!" she exclaimed, child-like once more, "I suppose I should go answer Bilbo's request that I sing for his nephew.  It should do him no harm, though I am concerned how it may affect his manservant."  She looked inquisitively at the Wizard.

            Gandalf smiled.  "Bilbo came to no harm through that strange gift of yours.  I think it would do Sam good as well.  Has your singing ever really changed a mortal for ill?"

            "Yes.  Back in the village where I lived with my mother.  Though I was very young, my song still had power, if somewhat uncontrolled.  Many mortal beings found themselves ill changed by my voice.  Some were made lustful, others violent, others had their hearts darkened.  They seemed to become more of what they already were, but feared to openly display."

            "But now you have more control."

            She sighed.  "Again, yes.  I seem to be able to strengthen the good in mortals now, rather than whatever is in their hearts.  Still, Hobbits are strange creatures, and I know not how they might react."

            Gandalf smiled.  "I would not worry overmuch.  However, would it be possible for you to simply shield Frodo from the inevitable nightmares, rather than stopping them entirely?  Some of what we might learn from any talking he does in his sleep could be very important."

            "Well I shall certainly try my best!"  She stood stepped lightly over to him and kissed him on the forehead.  "Thank you, Mithrandir.  It is always a comfort to speak with you, especially in times of growing darkness.  Tomorrow the Free Peoples will begin to arrive, and Elrond will call Council as soon as the Hobbit is well enough.  I look forward to their arrival.  I have never seen Dwarves."  She turned and sprang off down a path that would take her directly to Frodo's room, leaving Gandalf to wonder at her insight.

            Wren sat on a stone at the edge of a small pool, watching the reflections of the stars on its clear surface.  At the upper end of the glade a waterfall cascaded into this pond, disturbing it, so she always found herself drawn to this lower end.  She could still hear it, but the water was clear as a mirror.  A young fox had strayed into the glen and now slept in her lap while she gently stroked its soft fur.  His tale had been a sad one - both parents were dead, taken by wolves, along with his siblings.  He was the only one still alive, though he hadn't expected to live much longer, until he came by chance to Rivendell.  She offered to protect him for as long as she could or as long as he needed her.  

            I am gaining quite a few friends among the beasts, she thought.  Two years ago she'd found an owl, three years past a fawn, who was now a mighty stag, and in the spring of last year an injured young hawk had come to her.  All were now fully self-sufficient, yet still followed her often.  

            She smiled, and turned her thoughts to the injured Hobbit inside the Last Homely House.  Gandalf's request had been a strange one, but had worked well.  She had left even as he was returning, and he had seemed pleased with her effort.  She had started off to her own rooms then to rest, but along the way had nearly run into Aragorn and Arwen.  Even as she'd seen them they had spotted her, and, not wishing a confrontation, Wren had fled into the gardens.  Let Arwen explain that one, she thought.

            For a long while she sat in silent contemplation, when suddenly she heard voices nearby, drawing her out of her thoughts.  

            "Well that was a rotten trick!  Now where do we go?"

            "Don't know.  It was a lovely place to see the stars though.  I don't think they did it to be cruel."

            "No, I guess not.  I don't rightly think Elves _can_ be cruel.  But even if it was just for a bit of mischief, it was not very kind.  We don't know our way around!"

            "Oh come off it, Pip!  No harm can come to us here, remember?  Someone will find us eventually and put us on the right track."

            "Eventually, yes, but I am getting rather tired.  It's been a long day!"

            The voices drifted away, and then close again.  Listening, Wren almost started laughing.  Leading strangers off and abandoning them was a favorite game among some the younger and less noble Elves in Rivendell.  They would then watch while the visitors blundered about through the many twisting paths and eventually would lead them back to the House.  It was an odd sport, but since no harm ever came of it, Elrond saw no reason to forbid their games.

            Suddenly they drew quite near.  The fox in Wren's lap pricked up his ears and sat up with a small yip, loud in the silence of darkness.  The voices stopped, as did all sounds of their movement.  She could not even hear them breathe.

            "Peace," she told the fox-cub, then gathered him in her arms and stood.  

            "What was that?" whispered one of the voices.  The other remained silent.

            They don't sound like Men, Wren thought, and they speak the Common Tongue.  More Hobbits?  Yes, she decided.  Did not Gandalf mention others?  "Step forward but a little more, friends, and I can show you the path you seek," she said calmly.

            "Who said that?" hissed a voice from a nearby tree.  Wren looked up.

            "It's the Bird," whispered another.  The Elf then spoke louder.  "Oh go on then, spoil our game!  We were about to lead them back."  The two young Hobbits blundered through the bushes and found themselves standing on the cool flagstones of a well-used path.  They looked at each other in surprise, then up at Wren.

            "You know very well what they have been through."  Wren replied coldly.  "They do not deserve to be tormented thus, not even in jest.  They have come with the Bearer through great peril.  You should learn when not to meddle.  There will be other guests arriving very soon - play not with them!  You shall feel the wrath of Lord Elrond, else, for they are coming with burdens of their own, seeking counsel.  Find other games!"  

            "What, has Master Elrond or Mithrandir told you these things?" sneered one, from a slightly different direction.

            She turned toward the voice.  "Nay, I have learned this from the creatures of earth and sky, and the wind, too has brought these tidings.  Master Elrond says little, and Mithrandir less.  They know knowledge reaches me from other sources."  Her friend owl chose that moment to come winging in to land on a nearby tree branch, and there was a gasp from within that tree.  

            "Alright, then!" muttered yet another Elf.  "We shall see about that!"  And they all took themselves elsewhere, with Wren's bright laugh following them into the darkness.

            Her laughter faded into a sigh, and she smiled at the Hobbits, then turned to the owl.  "Thank you, my friend," she said in its own tongue.  "That was well done."  The owl hooted proudly, glad to be of service, and launched herself from the branch, gliding back into the night.  Wren laughed again.

            The elder of the two Hobbits stepped forward cautiously.  "Th-thank you," he stammered.  "I hope we have not caused you trouble."

            "No," she said, smiling at him.  "It is no trouble.  They enjoy their games, and I do not begrudge them that, but they should choose their targets more carefully."  Again she laughed.  "At the very least they should have waited until you were rested!"

            "So, you will show us the way back to the House?" asked the other, he suddenly noticed the fox in her arms, staring intently at him with bright black eyes.  "Is that a -"

            "Yes this is a fox-cub."  She set the little creature down, and he trotted over to the Hobbits.  The younger one petted him tentatively, and the fox licked his hand.  He gave a nervous laugh.  

            "Does he have a name?"

            "I do not know.  I have not asked him."

            Both Hobbits stared at her.  "Asked him?" inquired the elder.

            Wren nodded.  "But nor have I asked you your names, and for much the same reason:  I simply have not gotten that far.  However, since we are discussing it, I hope you will introduce yourselves."  She smiled.

            "Meriadoc Brandybuck," stated the elder, bowing.  "Though usually I'm just called Merry."

            "I'm Peregrin Took," the other added.  "Everyone calls me Pippin."

            "Merry and Pippin, I am honored to meet you.  I am Wren, Half-Elf of the House of Elrond."  She, too, bowed low.  "You have come here with Frodo, the Bearer of the Ring, have you not?"

            Merry nodded.  "We've heard he's doing better, but past that no one will tell us anything."

            "Or let us see him," said Pippin, sounding irritated.  "'Samwise and Bilbo are visitors enough.  He doesn't need to be crowded.'  So says Gandalf."

            Wren laughed.  "And, of course, Gandalf would be correct!  But be cheerful.  Frodo is sleeping, and will sleep for at least another full day.  You are not missing much, little ones."  She held out a hand to each of them.  "Come!  I will take you back to Lord Elrond's House."  And, with Merry on her right and Pippin on her left and the little fox - whose name, they discovered along the way, was Refsil - running ahead or leaping at their heels, they made their way back into the glow of the Last Homely House east of the Sea.

            Once inside, the Hobbits looked up at Wren and were astonished.  Never had they seen a being so fair, for they had not yet beheld the Lady Arwen.  It was said, that of the two Ladies of Elrond's House, Arwen was the more beautiful if you preferred the dusk, Wren if you preferred the dawn.  Wren herself vehemently denied this, saying Arwen was the more fair either way, but where Arwen was called Evenstar, so Wren was called the Dawnstar.  However, the Hobbits at that moment believed that Wren must truly be the most lovely thing in all of Middle-Earth.

            Though small for an Elf, Wren was still slender as a willow-wand, with skin slightly more golden than white.  Her eyes were the deep blue of the eastern sky just after the sun has set, and they glowed with the Elven light.  Her pale golden hair was braided back from her delicate face and held with a silver band.  She wore a gown of silver-green with a belt of silver links wrought in the shapes of leaves at her waist.  "There," she told them, not noticing their awe, "now you stand again within the House of Elrond.  I trust you can find your way from here!"  

            The Hobbits nodded, and a voice rang out from nearby, interrupting any reply they might have made.  "There you are!  We were beginning to worry.  You two should be taking your rest."  Looking up, the three saw a leather-clad Man making his way towards them.

            "Strider!"  Exclaimed Pippin.  "We are alright.  Apparently we were the objects of some Elvish game, and Wren here ended the game and brought us back."

            "Did she?" he replied, watching her.  Suddenly he bowed.  "Thank you, Bright Bird.  Gandalf was nearly beside himself with worry, thinking Pippin had gotten them lost."  Pippin gave an indignant exclamation, which Strider ignored.  "However, I believe if they will take themselves back to the Hall of Fire, Master Elrond will show them to their rooms."  He smiled down at the Hobbits. 

            Merry, sensing some kind of strain between the Elf and their friend, shushed Pippin's protest and drew him away in the direction of the Hall, leaving Wren and Strider alone.

            "Strider now?" Wren asked in a detached voice.  "You have more names each time we meet, Lord Aragorn."

            He shrugged carelessly.  "That is my name in the village of Bree, where I met them.  I don't mind it - there are worse nicknames - and it keeps them from asking questions, as long as I continue to look rugged and menacing."

            Wren arched a delicate eyebrow and turned to look out into the courtyard.  "I suppose it suits a Ranger," she replied softly, "though not one of the Dúnadan."

            He stared at her, a frown forming on his lips.  "That is precisely the point."  After a moment's silence he continued.  "What is going on?  When we saw you earlier you fled as if we were from the Enemy, and now you are cold.  It is not like you."

            She struggled with her answer for a moment.  "I did not wish to see the Lady Arwen.  Of late I have been the object of much scorn from her, and did not wish to wage a confrontation in front of you.  As it is, I should be going, or I will still hear it from her later.  I am watched always."  Wren turned to go, but Aragorn took hold of her arm.

            "Why would two as close as sisters be at each other's throats?" he demanded.

            With a strength born of desperation Wren jerked her arm free and turned to face him.  "Ask your Lady!  I have no wish to speak of it at present, though I would love to hear whatever reason she might give.  Perhaps then I will tell you what I know of the matter."  She bowed, and when she met his eyes again, she let pain cross her face.  "Forgive my rudeness, but I dare not be found speaking with you.  Good night my Lord."

Wren quickly departed, leaving Aragorn to stare after her in bewilderment.


	2. The Council Gathers

Part 2 :  The Council Gathers

*Note:  I took the liberty of making Glóin a bit of a scholar who knows just a little bit of the Elvish language.  I had planned to use Gimli in that line, but it didn't make sense.  It was one of those cases where I just needed someone to say it, to fit the story.  *shrug* 

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            When Wren woke the next morning, she could hear from a distant part of the House the sounds of preparation.  Today, the expected representatives of the Free Peoples would arrive.  She rose and opened her window - immediately three or four songbirds started to flutter around outside.  Laughing, she spoke to them, asking each to fly out and watch for the visitors, listen, and to bring back to her whatever they learned.  The birds trilled agreement and vanished into the dawn.

            Sighing happily, she shed her nightclothes and dressed in the garments she had chosen for acting out the part of a stable-hand.  Where usually she would wear something in soft green, she now pulled out grey breeches and a tunic of silver-grey and pale blue.  She fastened a grey cloak about her shoulders with a simple clasp, and girded her waist with a hand-tooled leather belt that had been a project of hers over the summer.  Upon the belt hung a knife sheath - only by looking at her weapon could anyone know she was not the simple groom she appeared to be.  The knife had been a gift passed to her from her father.  Its blade, longer than her forearm, was forged of mithril and steel and crafted to imitate the flowing curves of the wind upon water.  Set into the pommel was a large moonstone, and there were gems of sapphire and diamond on the hilt.  It was her most prized possession.

            She braided her hair back away from her face and sat quietly for a few moments, wondering how the day would play out.  About an hour after waking, Wren slipped on her soft leather shoes and started across the House towards one of the courtyards on the opposite side, near the stables.  She sensed Gandalf's presence there and greatly desired to speak with him ere the strangers began to arrive.  She found him sitting on the edge of a footbridge pulling at his pipe and blowing smoke-rings.

            Before she could speak to him, however, two songbirds converged upon her, one landing on her shoulder, the other on her outstretched hand.  The first chirped harshly at the other, demanding silence, and then told Wren of a lone Man approaching from the south, only a few hours ride away from Rivendell.  He was clad in raiment the like of which the little creature had never seen, though the Man spoke often to himself of "Imladris," and "the Enemy," and "the fall of Gondor."  Now Gondor was a name familiar to Wren, and she thanked the bird, letting it go its own way.

            The bird on her hand, a sparrow of brilliant yellow and green, older and wiser than the other, watched it leave, then began its own tale.  It had come upon a small group of Elves whom it recognized as coming from the Mirkwood.  There were three of them, and one was treated with deference by his fellows.  They were less than half a day's easy ride from the Valley, but were traveling at a good pace.  Upon finishing its report, it bobbed its head in farewell and left.

            Gandalf heard the birds' commotion and had turned to watch the exchange.  He now smiled at Wren as she came towards him.  "Well, what news do your friends bring of the outside world, Ever-Child?"

            She laughed.  "Those seeking Elrond's counsel draw near, Mithrandir.  Two groups are very close - one from the south, one from the east - and both shall arrive before midday."  Wren smiled proudly.  "The first is a lone Man who seems to come from Gondor.  The second is a group of Elves from Mirkwood.  One among them is of a higher authority, respected by the others.  They all come in haste."  A small sound off in a nearby shrub caught her attention and distracted her entirely.

            "Not bad, Wren," Gandalf applauded her efforts.  "You are well ahead of all save Elrond and I, and those in our confidence, of course.  Have you any more spies watching for our coming guests?"

            Silence answered his inquiry.  The Wizard watched Wren for a moment while she stared intently at the undergrowth.  "Wren?"  Still no reply.  Suddenly a small fox-cub came tumbling out of the shrubbery and ran headfirst into Wren's ankles.  It sat back and stared up at her, head cocked to one side.  She laughed, reaching down to scratch its ears.

Gandalf loudly cleared his throat.

            Wren straightened and looked at him.  "Yes?" she asked, having been completely diverted from the original conversation.  Yet Gandalf wondered.  There was no distraction in her eyes - they were clear, intent, and full of mirth and mischief.  Was her short attention span and childlike innocence all an act?  He sighed.

            "Never mind, I suppose it does not matter."  

            She laughed and came and sat beside him.  "Well, in that case I have a favor to ask of you, Mithrandir."

            "Oh?"  He did not seem surprised.  "I thought there must be some reason why you sought me out.  What do you need?"

            Wren looked somewhat uncomfortable.  "It is nothing I need."  She stared off across the courtyard, feeling the rough stone of the bridge beneath her hand.  After a long pause she went on.  "The Dwarves will also arrive today."

            "Yes, most likely.  Not until later this afternoon.  They will be the last to come."

            "No.  Elladan and Elrohir will be the last."  She looked at him.  "They will not return until sometime tomorrow."

            That startled him.  "Did your winged friends tell you this?"

            "No."  Wren did not explain how she knew, and Gandalf, aware that often she knew things without any understanding of how the information had come to her, did not ask.  There was another long pause.  Finally she continued.

            "If it would not be too much trouble, I would deeply appreciate it if you could teach me enough of the Dwarf language that I might greet them in their own tongue when they arrive."  The silence that met her request was deafening, and the scratching of the young fox playing on the flagstones seemed unnaturally loud.  

            Gandalf thought long about how best to answer her.  It was an odd request, coming from an Elf.  Apparently Wren had none of the natural enmity that lived between the Elves and Dwarves.  She truly wished to honor them by greeting them in such a manner.  Finally, he stood and started off back towards the House.

            "Gandalf?"  Her soft plea stopped him.  

            He answered her unspoken question.  "I need to speak with Elrond immediately."

            "Oh," Wren replied, dismayed.  "I suppose it was a foolish thing to ask?"

            The Wizard turned back to her.  "No, Wren," he answered quietly.  "It was very kind and very noble of you.  However, I must discuss this matter with Elrond before I go teaching one of his people Dwarvish.  Your doing them such an honor could cause problems later due to the continuing dislike between the Elves and Dwarves."  He smiled at her.  "You are the only Elf I know who would ever consider such a thing, Bright Bird.  If Elrond does not object, I will teach you as much Dwarvish as you are willing to learn."

            Wren smiled up at him, cheerful once more.  "Thank you, my friend."

            He nodded, and went into the House.  Wren stood and made her way to Rivendell's stables.

            Wren spent two hours readying the empty stalls for the guests' horses.  She greatly enjoyed the work as it was so different from her usual routine and took her time about it.  Once another Elf had come in and offered to help, but, wishing to use this time to think on how best to approach the strangers, she graciously declined.  No sooner was she ready to sit and take a moment's rest than the little fox-cub, whom she had asked to keep watch, ran into the stable and alerted her that the first of the visitors, the Man from Gondor, had arrived.

            For a moment she froze in fear.  Never had she met a Man other than Aragorn since she had arrived in Rivendell, and she was not certain how he would react to a Half-Elf.  Idiot! she finally told herself.  You are being ridiculous.  A Man cannot tell the difference between a Half-Elf who has chosen the Elven life and a full Elf!  Some do not even recognize Elves as being different from Men.  He is meeting me in an Elvish House - it will most likely not occur to him that I could be anything else.  Resolved, Wren went out to meet him.

            The Man rode beneath the arch that marked the division between the natural growth of the Wild and the gardens of Imladris and stared about in wonder.  He had heard legends of this Elvish stronghold, but nothing in his imagination could have prepared him for the wonderful reality.  He dismounted, unable to clearly think in his awe.  Suddenly a She-Elf clad in grey and blue stepped lightly onto the path in front of him.

            "Greetings and welcome, Lord of Gondor!"  Wren hailed him.  "Welcome to Rivendell, the House of Elrond.  May you find here rest from your long journey and peace from the burdens you carry in your heart."  

            The Man bowed slightly, wondering at her beauty as well as her words.  "Thank you, Lady," he replied politely.  "I am here-"

            "To speak with Master Elrond," Wren finished for him with a smile like sunlight.  She pointed along up the path.  "Follow this path - do not turn from it - and it will lead you to the House.  My Lord Elrond is expecting you."  She stepped forward and gently laid a hand on his horse's bridle.  The stallion lowered his head and breathed softly into her palm.  She smiled and turned back to the Man.  "I will see that your steed is well taken care of."

            "Thank you," he said again, his eyes wide with surprise.

            Wren bowed, spoke softly to the horse, and began to lead him to the stables.  However, the Man stopped her before she had gone far.

            "Wait!"  He strode towards her.  "Can you tell me - will your Lord be able to speak with me soon?"

            This was not the sort of question Wren had expected or prepared for, but she answered as truthfully as possible.  He almost sounded desperate.  "I know not.  Master Elrond is expecting many visitors with pleas to set before him."  She was thoughtful for a moment.  "I believe he may ask you to wait and present your troubles at a council, along with all the rest, for many of your questions may be answered there.  However the one who holds the greatest burden is currently recovering from great injury.  My Lord cannot hold council until he wakes."

            While the Man did seem somewhat disappointed, he was not surprised in the least.  "How soon will that be?"

            "I believe he should wake tomorrow, so the council will be no sooner than the day after."  Wren frowned slightly.  "Are you under heavy time constraints, my Lord?"

            He smiled wearily and shook his head.  "No, not really, I suppose.  It can wait a few days more.  Thank you, once again, fair Lady."  With that he turned and started up the path Wren had pointed out to him.

            She watched him go, then turned back to his steed.  "Well now, friend, let us see what we can do for you!"  As she led the stallion toward the stables she laughed.  "I can see already that Men will be difficult for me to understand, even now.  They were incomprehensible enough before I came to Rivendell!"  The horse snorted softly.  He had lived among Men all his life and did not always understand them.  "That makes me feel a great deal better, my friend," she sighed.

            Once the Man's horse was untacked, groomed, and settled, Wren left the stables for a short walk.  A _very_ short walk, she soon discovered.  She had not been free for fifteen minutes when the fox-cub found her again - the Elves of Mirkwood had arrived.

            "Well!" she told the cub indignantly.  "I am certainly glad the Dwarves will not be arriving until this afternoon, Refsil.  I would very much like an hour to myself!"  He barked in agreement.

            Wren hurried towards the entrance to the gardens and paused just before reaching the path.  From here, she could see them, but they could not see her.  She stared in shock at the trio riding under the archway.  The figure in the lead, staring about him with the air of one returning to a much-loved place under circumstances less than fortunate, was an Elf she recognized immediately.  He had come to Rivendell before.  He would not, however, recognize her.  Though she had watched him many times as he wandered through the gardens of Imladris, she had been very careful to stay out of sight.  Lord Thranduil sends his son? she thought, incredulous.  Their tidings must be bad indeed if he is willing to risk his heir!

            Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Wren stepped forward and greeted them.  "Welcome Master Legolas!  Well met, messengers of Thranduil, Lord of Mirkwood!"  The two Elves riding behind Legolas looked at her, and seemed startled, but he dismounted, looking towards the House, and seemed not to hear.  "May the peace of this House ease the burdens on your souls."

            "If peace remains anywhere in Middle-Earth," Legolas said distantly, "then surely here it can be found."  He glanced at her momentarily, and then properly looked at her, his bright eyes widening slightly.

            She bowed.  "We do our very best to preserve that peace, my Lord."  She straightened and smiled at them as the other two Elves dismounted.  "Master Elrond is expecting you.  I will see to your mounts."

            "Thank you, Lady," said one of the others as Wren softly spoke to the stallion Legolas had ridden.  The horse walked beside her as turned and went once again to the stable, and the other two followed them.

            The three Silvan Elves of Mirkwood stared after her.  "Forgive me," said the one who had thanked her a moment before, "but does it not seem odd that one so fair is acting as a stable-hand for Lord Elrond?  She looks more like she should be a Lady of his House!"

            The other agreed, and they began to make their way along the path.  "She reminds me of the Lady Arwen, though light instead of dark."

            Legolas said nothing and for a moment did not move, but stared along the path she had taken.  As his companions passed him, he seemed to shake himself out of a daze and followed them towards the House.

            Wren was so unnerved by her encounter with the Elves of Mirkwood that she was unable to bring herself to speak easily with their horses.  By the time they reached the stable she was physically shaking.  The stallion noticed her distress and seemed to find it highly amusing.  He was in good spirits, unlike his rider, and teased Wren halfway to the stables.  Finally the other two horses, a mare and her two-year-old colt, took pity on her and scolded their companion until he subsided.

            It took Wren until she had untacked the mare and colt and began grooming them to get her unease under control.  The stallion she left tacked until she had finished with the other two, and when he cheerfully complained she told him it was just retribution for the harassment he had given her earlier.

            "No fault of mine!" he laughed at her.  "You are the one who caught the Master's eye.  None has done that in many a year!"

            "That was hardly my intention."

            The mare tossed her head.  "Of course not, my dear, yet you succeeded none the less."  She was by several years the eldest of the three.

            Wren did not reply, but began to take a comb to the colt's tail.

            The stallion was dismayed.  "Oh come now!  Surely I have not annoyed you that badly!"  He rubbed his cheek against the stall door.  "Please, Mistress, take this saddle off me.  Elves may make them far better than do Men, but they are still uncomfortable."

            "Oh stop whining, fool!" said the horse in the next stall.  "The Lady knows what she is about."  He looked over the stall door at the stallion from Mirkwood.  "Though I do suppose she should not leave you tacked.  It is not good for the leather..."

            "Thank you," replied the stallion dryly.

            Looking up, Wren laughed.  "Well, since you have Asfaloth on your side, friend, I suppose I shall relent."  With that, she put down the comb and removed the stallion's bridle, then the rest of his tack.  He sighed contentedly as she took a brush to his coat.

            "Thank you, Mistress.  The past few days have been long, and we ran hard.  The news Master Legolas brings to Lord Elrond is of great importance, I guess."  When Wren did not reply he continued.  "I am Falrahes.  My companions are Gwiaen," he indicated the colt with his nose, "and Miranë.  We are honored by your consideration."

            Asfaloth snorted.  "So under all those high spirits he actually has good manners," he muttered.  Wren smiled

            "I am honored to have been afforded this opportunity to meet with beasts of lands so far distant."  She motioned to the bay stallion in a stall across the aisle.  "Tiren there comes from the far southern land of Gondor, and Bill," she indicated the pony, "hails from the western village of Bree."  Her eyes sparkled as she looked up at Falrahes.  "His tale is by far the most interesting."

            He gave a derisive snort, dismissing the pony, who merely chuckled in reply.  

            "However," she continued, "you will most likely not be under my care after today."

            Miranë looked up in surprise.  "Why not, Mistress?"

            Asfaloth tossed his white head.  "Have you not yet figured out her game, friends?  Wren is a Lady of Rivendell and kin to Master Elrond.  She is no mere horse-groom!"

            Gwiaen turned to stare at her.  "Really?  So it is as our Masters suspected."

            The Half-Elf blinked in surprise.  "They guessed?" she gasped.  "How do you know this?"

            "You were too far ahead to hear, perhaps," answered Miranë, "but they were speaking amongst themselves as we left them."  She proudly arched her neck.  "They felt you too fair to be a stable-hand."

            Without reply, Wren continued grooming Falrahes, deep in thought.

            Wren stayed in the stables for quite some time, asking questions about the lands and masters of her charges.  She did not permit Falrahes to speak long of Legolas - her heart raced strangely when he spoke of him.  Still, she learned a great deal, and every word they spoke only made her more anxious to see the World outside Rivendell.  During that time, another bird returned to her.  The Dwarves were now but a few hours distant.  There were four, and they hailed from the Lonely Mountain.  Glóin and Gimli, Glóin's son, were the names of the two who led them.  She thanked the bird and sent it on its way.

            Just after midday, Gandalf found her, still sitting near the stalls.

            "Well, are you still here, Little Bird?" he called.  She looked towards the doorway and smiled.  "I thought you would have taken this break as an opportunity to get _out_ of the stable!" he added with a laugh.

            Wren stood and greeted him.  "I thought you would not come."  She motioned to the horses.  "They have such tales to tell, Mithrandir!  I wanted to learn all they could tell me."  She faltered and glanced at Falrahes.  

            "Almost all..." he reminded her.

            "Oh, be quiet!" came her muttered reply.

            Gandalf arched an eyebrow.  "I see."  He came forward and sat down on a stool on the other side of the aisle, clearing his throat.  "Ahem.  Well, I have spoken with Elrond-"  He paused.

            "It took long enough to gain an answer," Wren said impishly.  "And?"

            He gave her a long, sobering glance.  "I had to speak with the guests as well, Wren.  They bring here dark tidings, and though I could not spare the time to hear their full stories now, I still needed to speak with them.  Elrond has asked them to await the council."

            She nodded.  "And?"

            He blinked.  "And?" he asked.  "Oh!  Yes.  Dwarvish.  Master Elrond has no objection to your learning a bit of the Dwarf language.  He believes it may help bridge the gap between the two races, and I agree with him."

            Wren could have cheered.  Only long years of practice allowed her to keep her composure.  She was quite excitable, for an Elf.  Instead, she sat down quickly on her own stool and stared eagerly at him.

            Realizing he would get her to talk of nothing else until he began, Gandalf carefully started to teach her.  However, he would only teach enough for her to greet the Dwarves - he had no intention of making this into a long lesson.  He simply did not have the time.  Besides that, the Dwarves were very secretive about their language.  It would be a pity if she managed to offend them while trying to honor them.

            The Ever-Child held a deep love of learning the like of which Gandalf had never before seen.  It did not take long for her to master the little she wished to know.  Once finished, he found he still had some time before he needed to go back to take over the watch on Frodo.  So, for a short time they simply sat and talked.  He was especially curious as to what Wren had learned from the visitors' mounts.

            "Well," she told him, "not much that would be of any great use to you, I'm afraid."  She leaned back against the stall partition.  "I only asked about their lands and their journeys, not about what brought their masters here."

            The Wizard arched an eyebrow.  "You did not ask about their riders?"

            That question took Wren off guard, and she started.  "Ah, well - not really, not much."  Suddenly she remembered.  "Although I did ask a good bit about the Man - Boromir, was his name? - but only because I know so little of Men..." She trailed off and stared at the floor.

            "You did not, I take it, ask about the Elves."

            Behind her, to her right, Asfaloth whickered a soft chuckle.  She ignored him.  "I have lived most of my life among Elves, Mithrandir, I saw no need."

            "Really."  Gandalf was quiet for a moment.  "The Silvan Elves of Mirkwood are very different from the Elves you see each day here in Rivendell.  They did, however, see a need to ask about you."  

            Wren's head shot up and she stared at him, eyes wide with something akin to fear.  "What?" she gasped.

            He laughed.  "You are surprised?  One thing all Elves have in common:  they appreciate all forms of beauty.  They did not expect to see a horse-groom so fair."  Wren reddened and glared her hands, which sat clasped tightly in her lap.  "Elrond had a fine time trying to think of something to tell them so as not to give your game away.  But in the end, only the truth sounded like a plausible explanation."

            "So they know," she sighed.

            Gandalf thoughtfully stroked his mustache.  "Yes.  They seemed quite pleased about it, though they obviously found it amusing.  Arwen was with her father when he spoke to them - she did not seem pleased that they asked."

            "Of course!" Wren scoffed.  "And why should she?"

            It was a rhetorical question, so Gandalf did not answer.  After a moment he did add, "It was rather strange, though."  He looked at her with narrowed eyes.  "Lord Thranduil's son seemed neither pleased nor amused.  Only thoughtful." He paused again.  "Though his companions did not, Legolas also noticed Arwen's irritation.  That seemed to leave him somewhat bemused."

            Wren did not reply for a long minute, so deep was she in thought.  Finally she said, "Wonderful.  I should have simply kept myself out of sight, as usual."

            Gandalf stood and came towards her.  He put a gentle hand under her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes.  "It is not healthy for you to keep yourself isolated, Wren.  It would be good for you to speak with them."  He dropped his hand.  "Especially with Legolas."  His eyes clouded and grew distant as he considered his next thought.  "In fact, I think it would be good for him as well."

            Wren sighed.  "Gandalf, I do not know if I can."  His eyes focused on her once more.  "I have kept myself apart from strangers for so long, I would not know what to say."  She was ashamed.  Never had she realized just how deeply her fear of rejection ran.  "He is an Elf-Prince, old friend - how would he view a half-blood?"

            Behind her, Falrahes snorted indignantly, irritated that she could think his master so petty.  He reached his head over the stall door, gripped the shoulder of her tunic in his teeth, and pulled her to her feet, giving her a rough shake as he did so.  Wren gave a strangled exclamation of surprise.

            Had her response worried him any less, Gandalf would have laughed.  He wished he had the time to help her through this transition - as it was, she would feel very alone.  "I'm afraid I agree with Falrahes.  I have known Legolas for long enough to be fairly certain he is not that shallow.  And as for what you would say-" He paused.  "Simply be your usual, impish self."  She stared at him in disbelief.  "I think your carefree manner would lighten his heart."

            Wren gently touched the stallion's forehead and thought for a moment.  She looked up into the Wizard's kind, somber eyes.  "I think," she quietly replied, "perhaps, it would be a comfort to me as well, and lighten my heart."

            Gandalf smiled softly and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.  "I do not think the name 'Ever-Child' will suit you much longer, dear Little Bird.  You have grown in mind a great deal since last I was in Rivendell."

            Her eyes were a bit too bright as she answered.  "No, Mithrandir.  I am simply learning to deal with the knowledge I possess."

            He nodded, and with a final pat on her shoulder, he left.

            For a several hours after the Wizard had left, Wren sat in silence.  The horses sensed her need for it, and bothered her not at all.  All of her cheerful confidence had fled, and she was left feeling incredibly alone and uncertain, even as she had as a small Elf-Child in a village of Men so long ago.  

            I feel like I have lived as long as Master Elrond, she thought sadly, and yet I am still young among the Elves.  All these years have been so long in my heart - I have been a fool.  I suppose I have always felt that, to be considered Elvish by full-blooded Elves, I needed almost to act more Elvish than they.  Which is, of course, ridiculous!  And this Sight does not help, this Deep Knowledge.  So many horrible things it shows!  Things I dare not let myself comprehend - I would go mad!

            She buried her face in her arms and took a great, shuddering breath.  "I cannot stay in Imladris much longer," she whispered.  "Things are happening in the Wide World.  Great, Dark things.  I see great evil if I remain within this Valley."

            Asfaloth nudged her with his soft muzzle.  "Then you must chose your time of leaving carefully, Lady.  Elsewise you might still miss the proper moment."

            Wren looked up.  "If I over-think it I will never leave."

            At that moment the fox-cub came once again bounding up to her.  At last the Dwarves had arrived.  She stood, gathered her scattered wits, and went out to greet them.

            They came riding in on shaggy ponies, looking warily out over long shaggy beards.  She could have laughed at the sight of them, had she not been somewhat awed.  They were not nearly as weak or cruel-looking as she had seen them depicted, and large battle-axes hung at their belts.  They seemed almost ungainly, though, and somewhat squarish of build, but she sensed that they were more like coiled springs and could move with great speed and accuracy if they wished.  

            Wren stepped out onto the path before them and the grey-bearded Dwarf at their head reined in his mount.  They stared at her with closed expressions, unreadable.  She smiled warmly and bowed to them, saying in almost perfect Dwarvish:  "Greetings Glóin and Gimli, son of Glóin!  Well-met, Dwarves of the Misty Mountains!"  She stood and nearly laughed.  Their faces were not so unreadable now!  "Welcome to Rivendell and the House of Elrond.  May you find here rest from your journey and peace from the burdens in your hearts."  The one called Gimli looked positively flummoxed.  "I am Wren of Imladris," she bowed again, "at your service."

            The Dwarves dismounted and bowed in turn.  "At your service and your kin's!" they replied at once, in the same language.  Wren was grateful Gandalf had taught her also what their reply would likely be, else she would have been lost.

            Glóin came forward slightly and said, in halting Elvish, "Lady gracious, you we thank.  Great honor you have done us."  

            Her smile widened in her own surprise, and she bowed yet again.  She wondered where he had learned it.  She straightened and laughed.  "Come, friends!" she said in the Common Tongue.  "Master Elrond is expecting you.  I will see to your mounts."  Wren turned to Glóin.  "You were here before, years ago.  I trust you know the way?"  

            Had her smile been any less open and honest, Glóin would have thought she teased him.  As it was he took no offense.  "I do indeed, Mistress Wren," he replied with a nod.

            Once more Wren bowed, then took the reins of his pony.  "Then farewell, until we next meet, Masters," she said, and speaking softly to the ponies, led them away.

            The Dwarves were somewhat uncertain what to make of the She-Elf, but decided that perhaps Elves were not all so bad after all.  Gimli, for one, never forgot her consideration, and, though in later days he met other Elves he counted greater or more fair, she was always one of the first few in his heart.

            Once the ponies were made comfortable and she had asked them numerous questions about their lands, masters, and journeys, Wren finally left the stable.  She returned to her rooms and bathed - she did not mind the smell of horse, but only for so long as she was actually around horses - and dressed in a simple gown of silver and blue.  Over this she tied a belt of grey cord, from which hung a leather sheath, also grey, tooled in blue.  Into this she placed her knife, feeling an instinctive need to wear it openly tonight.  She braided her hair back with silver cord, along which tiny bells were strung that whispered softly as she moved.

            Satisfied, Wren went to find some refreshment, and then to the Hall of Fire.  It would spoil her earlier game, but she that no longer mattered.  For the first time she was taking her rightful place as a Lady of Elrond's House.


	3. A Meeting Under Stars

Part 3 :  A Meeting Under Stars

*Note:  Orsúle, which I have written as meaning Windheart, is a combination of the Tengwar Óre - meaning heart, or inner mind, and Súle - wind (that same character is also called Thúle, meaning spirit).  _Author laughs: Wren almost wound up Súlthule instead, but after trying to wrap my tongue around the l's and th together, I decided against it._

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            That evening, those who were strangers to Rivendell wondered at the Elven Lady who stood at Master Elrond's left hand, some paces behind him.  Smaller than most Elves, she was, but fairer, too, and her light shadowed all but the Lady Arwen, who sat at her father's right.  The Elves of Rivendell also wondered - why did she wait until now to take her place in Elrond's house?  The visitors who had arrived only earlier that day were, however, those most surprised.  This Lady was at once so like and yet unlike the horse-groom who had greeted them!  Only the Elves of Mirkwood knew her to be the same - one in particular watched her quite closely - the other newcomers felt the two must be kin.  

            As the evening wore on, though she spoke easily with everyone, she began to look increasingly uncomfortable and strained.  Only Elrond knew the reason:  it had been a very long while indeed since Wren had spent any amount of time in his daughter's company.  Though they did not speak, the two Elf-Women were gradually wearing each other down.

            Finally, another Elf approached the smaller Lady.  "Mistress Wren," he murmured, "the Halflings have been asking for you."

            Her tight smile relaxed into a real one.  "Thank you - that is good news!" she exclaimed, glad to be given the opportunity to escape for a time.  "Where can I find them?"

            "I told them you were here, and they followed me."  He motioned to the far wall, in which was set the entrance to the Hall of Fire.  There she could see three small figures sitting together.

            She nodded.  "Again, thank you."  He bowed and departed.  Wren came forward and bowed to Master Elrond.  "By your leave, my Lord," she said.  At Elrond's nod and slight smile, she, too, left.

            Aware of many eyes upon her, Wren moved gracefully across the Hall to stand before the Hobbits.  "Well, Bilbo," she laughed, "I see you have left the task of watching Frodo to Gandalf and Sam!"

            The three looked up at her, and Merry and Pippin respectfully got to their feet.  Bilbo stayed put.  "Have you ever sat and watched someone sleep all day?" he asked irritably.  "Wearying work!  Had I not taken leave for a time, I, too, would now be sleeping!"

            "Then your leaving may be excused, little Master.  You sleep enough as it is!"  She bowed mockingly, and Bilbo laughed, justly rebuked for his short temper.  "What did you need of me?" Wren asked then.

            Pippin grinned, and Merry's eyes sparkled with mischief.  "Actually," said Pippin, "we don't need anything."

            Wren arched an eyebrow.  "Oh?"

            "You were starting to wilt a bit up there," Merry confessed, "so we decided to see if we couldn't relieve you for a bit.  We left the Hall, and started 'looking for you.'"  He paused.  "Bilbo says you aren't used to acting the part of a Lady of the House?"

            "Alas, no," she replied remorsefully.  "I am more used to walking the gardens-"

            "And acting as a servant," put in Bilbo.  "Though I admit I am proud you tried to play the Lady at last."

            Wren chuckled.  "Yes, yes.  I suppose if it is my lot to remain forever in Rivendell, I should at least take some advantage of my Blood."  She shook her head in thought.  "No matter how badly it may irritate Arwen."

            "Which is a side effect that amuses you," said Bilbo, teasing.

            Wren's eyes were somber as she replied.  "No.  It saddens me, my friend."

Silence hung between them for several minutes.

            Finally, Pippin gathered his courage and broke the strain.  "Also we thought you might want to know that there is a young fox sitting out in the courtyard looking absolutely miserable and lonely."  He grinned.  "We'd hoped you could cheer him up."

            The Elf-Maid looked at them with admiration.  "You three are life savers, surely!"  She sighed.  "I was beginning to feel very stressed up there.  Arwen's spirit is strong."

Shaking off the thought, she bowed and said, "Well, I shall see what I can do for him."

            The Hobbits laughed as she left, and spent the rest of that evening in the Hall, discussing the wonders of Imladris.

            Wren made her way out of the Hall of Fire, passing near a somber Elf with a strong presence who stood near the other side of the entrance.  Though she kept her eyes on the doors and did not look at him, she could feel him watching her.  "_It would be good for you to speak with them..."_  Gandalf's words came back to her.  At the moment, however, she pushed them to the corners of her mind and left the Hall.

            The gardens were dark, yet bathed in starlight, as Wren walked within them.  The fox-cub, cheerful once more, nipped at her heels as she went.  Refsil had indeed been a most sorrowful sight when she found him, sitting with drooping ears underneath a bench just outside of the House.  Now, pleased to be with her again, he would not be calmed.  The Half-Elf, however, had other ideas.  She found a seat made of a carefully trained living tree at the edge of a small clearing, near a waterfall.  The glow of the House here could not be seen, and the stars were very bright.

            Deciding that she was not going to play with him after all, the fox took off into the bushes after a rodent of some sort, leaving Wren alone with her thoughts.  Long she sat in silence, listening to the waterfall and watching the stars.  At last she could be at peace for a while, without having to contend with the pressure of Arwen's presence.  Leaning against the tree, she let her mind roam free.

            So deep was Wren in thought, she did not notice the approach of the Silvan Elf, nor did she hear his coming over the sound of the waterfall.  Not until he came within her field of vision did she realize he was there.  Silently, she turned her head to watch him.

            He stood in the center of the space between the stream and the garden, not two lengths distant from her seat, watching the sky, and neither saw nor sensed her.  For a short time he was completely still, then suddenly he lay on the grass and laced his fingers behind his head.  Wren could see the starlight reflected in his eyes as he gazed upward.

            _"It would be good for him as well..."_  Again Gandalf's words echoed in her mind, and this time she could not so easily shake them away.  What harm can it do me, she thought at last, to merely speak with him?  Besides, Gandalf has faith in him, and anyway, rejection is not something that will kill me.  It is unpleasant, but I would survive.  As she watched the lone Elf, she was surprised that she suddenly felt akin to him, and did not really believe that her half mortal blood would bother him in the least.  Finally resolved, she spoke at last.

            "Good evening, my Lord," she called lightly.  By what strength she kept herself from laughing aloud she never knew - he started and quickly sat up in a most comical fashion, looking around for the voice.  "I see you have managed to evade your companions for a time."

            Slowly, still recovering from his surprise, the Elf stood, then looked at her.  "Forgive me, Lady.  I did not know you were there," he said, his gentle, respectful tone much different than when he had spoken to her before with his mind elsewhere.

            Wren laughed softly.  "So I noticed," she replied, remembering how he had jumped.  "If you wished to be alone," she added, "I can go elsewhere.  I can come here often, after all, and you are a guest.  There are few places better than this for watching the sky."

            Legolas smiled and shook his head.  "There is no need - I was not seeking solitude, exactly."  After a brief pause he continued.  "However, I fear I have intruded upon your thoughts..."  His expression turned inquisitive. 

            "I do not seek solitude, either, but it seems to find me none the less.  And as for my thoughts, well," she pensively replied, "Master Elrond would say I need to have them interrupted more often."  She arched an eyebrow.  "In which case, I am deeply in your debt."

            Watching him, Wren could tell he was not certain what to make of her.  For a few long moments he simply looked at her, thoughtful.  "Stand up a moment," he requested at last.  Seeing no reason not to, she obliged, and stepped a few paces forward, out of the shadow of the tree.  His eyes widened in surprise - she was nearly a full head shorter than he.  Finally he realized what had puzzled him all day.  "You are Half-Elven," he said softly.

            She frowned.  "I would dearly love to know," she said with some force, "why that is always the first thing everyone seems to notice and feels required to remind me of!"  She turned to go back to the tree, but a gentle touch on her arm stopped her.

            "I apologize, Lady," Legolas responded sincerely.  "I did not realize it would trouble you.  After all," he added, amusement creeping into his voice despite his best efforts to keep it out, "Elrond is Half-Elven and the Master of this House.  I have been told he takes some pride in his mortal blood."

            Wren looked up at him and for a moment could think of nothing to say.  She glanced away.  "Forgive me.  My first years of life I was ever tormented by the knowledge that I was a half-blood."  She stepped away from him and sat on the grass beside the stream.  "I lived among Men then.  It was their cruelty that made me choose the Elven life."

            "And ever since," he observed quietly, "you have feared to be given the same treatment again, and have kept yourself hidden from all those you did not know."  He started to move towards her but stopped.  "I hope you have found Elves to be quite different from Men."

            She uttered a bitter laugh.  "In most ways, yes.  Yet there are still some, even here in Imladris where Elrond Halfelven is Master, who scorn my mortal half."  She was thoughtful then.  "Yet also I have found that not all Men are like those I first knew."  Suddenly she drew a deep breath and shook off her growing sadness.  "But I digress."  She turned and smiled up at him.  "You have got me reminiscing, and if I keep it up I shall depress both of us!"  Legolas wondered at her sudden change of mood.  "What is your story, my Lord?"  Wren asked then.

            He looked at her sharply.  "Please, do not call me that."  She blinked in surprise, stiffening.  He laughed and broke the tense silence.  "I suppose we each have things we do not wish to be reminded of!"  Sitting beside her, he added, "I have no desire to be recognized as my father's heir.  I am simply Legolas, Captain of the woods-scouts of Mirkwood."  He gave her a sidelong glance.  "Besides, Elf-Princes are not often given the chance to wander without guard, whereas most feel Captains are capable of looking after themselves."

            Wren grinned.  "I see.  So that is why, upon reaching Rivendell, you always evade any companions who have journeyed here with you."  

            He stared at her.  "How did you-"

            The Elf-Maid's laugh interrupted him.  "You have come here before, and, though I am fairly certain you never saw me until today, I have seen you many times, wandering the gardens alone."

            "Surely I would have sensed you..."

            "Unlikely," Wren replied proudly.  "You did not know I was here just a few moments ago, true?  Besides, I have trained long at stealth.  Not even Elladan and Elrohir can find me when I do not wish to be found."

            "Elrond's sons?"  He smiled slightly.  "And they are supposed to be the greatest trackers in all Middle-Earth."

            "And so they are.  It was they who trained me.  I am one of Elrond's Hunters, even as they are, though I do not leave the Valley often.  Almost equal in skill, but less in experience - that is my fate as a Lady of the House."  She sighed.

            Legolas laughed.  "Then you indeed have me at a disadvantage, Lady.  You seem to know a good deal about me, and I have not even been told your name."

            Wren gasped in dismay.  "I am sorry!  I thought Master Elrond had told you earlier - Mithrandir told me that your companions asked him about me.  I am Wren, daughter of Lyrah of Númenor and Galdenë, distant cousin of Elrond."  She blinked, startled by the treachery of her own tongue.  "And that is more than most know."

            He was silent for a long moment.  "Wren," he murmured thoughtfully, "the little songbird living at the forest's edge.  Warrior, wanderer, and Elvish Lady of the line of Númenor."  She stared at him, and he lay back once again.  "I am almost surprised you did not take an Elvish name after coming to Rivendell."

            "I saw no need.  In memory of my mother I keep the name she gave me."

            "Ah.  A kind decision."

            A wind gently stirred within the valley, and Wren close her eyes, letting it move through her.  Orsúlë, Glorfindel had called her once, long ago - Windheart, in the language of the High Elves.  Now she let the wind calm her thoughts.  She remembered something she had intended to ask earlier.  "Legolas, what is it like where you come from?"

            For a while he did not answer, but lay in thought.  "The forest of Mirkwood, or that part over which my father rules?"

            "Both.  Either.  It does not matter."

            He sighed.  "Well, the small part over which the Elves still hold sway is like an island of light in the middle of a dark sea, much like Rivendell, and Lórien to the south of us.  However, it is not as strong a haven, for while darkness will only attack here at the end of all things, we are constantly driving away small bands of orcs and other creatures of evil intent.  But it is a good, wholesome place.  Mirkwood, on the other hand, is dark and dangerous - I would not speak of it in such a fair place as this."

            "And the Wilds between there and here?"

            Smiling he said, somewhat teasingly, "Insatiable, aren't you?"

            "I have never been far from Rivendell," she replied indignantly, "nor, the way things are going, am I ever likely to."

            "Perhaps someday," he said, but launched into a full account of his journey from Mirkwood to Rivendell.  Never before had Wren found someone so willing to talk without getting the feeling that the speaker was annoyed with her.  He seemed to take as much delight in describing the Wilds as she took in hearing about them.  Glorfindel had told her much when she was but a child, but now darkness was gathering and he had not the time to spare.  Gildor Inglorion had become a very good source for a while, but he was often away near the Havens.  Now most of what she learned came from steeds and the creatures of the Wild.  It was good to have a fellow Elf to listen to again.

            Legolas talked for quite some time, never minding any interruptions she made when there was something she wanted to hear in greater detail.  When he reached his arrival in Rivendell, and his companions' comments on the fair horse-groom, he stopped.  He did not add his own thoughts.  If she noticed the omission, she did not comment.

            "Thank you," she said finally.  "I do not mean to sound like a child begging for stories, but very few are so willing to humor me."

            He chuckled.  "You do not, and I was not.  Humoring you, I mean."  After a brief pause, he added softly: "I had forgotten how nice it is to talk sometimes, without worrying about the fate of the world."

            They let the silence fall then, and listened only to the waterfall and the night birds as they watched the stars reeling above.  Gradually, Legolas became aware of a soft voice mingling with the song of the water, entwined within it for a while, then rising above it in a song that fell on his ears like starlight on his eyes.  He lay enthralled by the music, a singing like none he had ever known, and suddenly realized that the voice was Wren's.  After a few more moments, the song once more dropped to blend with the water, then faded away.

            There was a moment of utter stillness.  "You stopped," he said quietly.

            Wren laughed and looked at him.  "Yes, I am aware of that."

            He smiled, but did not rise to the jibe.  "I meant, 'Don't stop,'" he corrected.  She stared at him in wonder, and his smile widened.  "You look surprised.  I have never heard even a full Elf with so fair a voice."  She did not reply, but looked back up at the sky.  After a moment she began again, this time with a song of starlight and water and forests - the things held most dear by the Elves - that was familiar to him as well.

            For a time Legolas simply listened, then joined in a countermelody that followed the melody quite closely.  The effect was breathtaking - a haunting harmony that seemed to mirror the meeting of earth or sea and sky on the horizon at dusk.  Wren let her melody drift into silence, letting him continue alone.  Long before she was ready to stop listening, he, too, fell silent.

            "You stopped," she teased, and he laughed.

            This time, he started, with Wren following on harmony.  In this way, much of the night passed, with the two Elves singing to the stars.  They soon had many listeners, and had they known, they would have stopped, embarrassed.  As it was, any wandering that end of the Valley that night heard music the like of which Rivendell had never known.  Among those who chanced to hear it were Aragorn and Lady Arwen.

            Arwen's Elven ears had been able to hear it for some time, but suddenly Aragorn stopped, head to one side, listening.  "I do not believe it," he murmured, and glanced at the Lady.  "Is that Wren?"

            She nodded.  "Yes.  But why so surprised?  You have heard her sing before."

            "Alone, yes," he replied, "never with another."  He was quiet for a moment.  "I do not recognize the other voice."

            Arwen smiled as she listened.  "The other, I believe, is Legolas Greenleaf of Mirkwood."  The anger in her heart that had long been directed at the Half-Elven woman slowly melted away.

            "Really!  That is indeed a surprise.  So earlier in the Hall - her being there was not chance?  She is finally coming out of hiding?"

            "So it seems.  You did not hear?  She was acting as a horse-groom this afternoon, greeting the visitors as they arrived."

            Aragorn smiled.  "Good!  Then the wound opened by her tormented childhood is finally healing.  Very good.  I am glad to hear it."

            They began walking once more.  "As am I, my love," whispered Arwen.  "As am I."

            It was after midnight when Wren and Legolas finally fell silent.  A steady breeze had picked up, blowing through the trees, and it carried a slight autumn chill.  Though Wren continued to watch the sky, or the stream, Legolas closed his eyes, and for a time lay very still, save for an edge of his tunic stirred by the wind.

            Suddenly, something landed on his chest, driving the air out of him.  "Ouff!" he gasped, and looked down.  A little, furry tail bumped his nose and he laughed.  "What have we here?"  He reached up and took the little fox by the scruff of the neck to lift it off, but it had his tunic firmly in its maw and refused to let go.

            Wren looked at him, bewildered.  When she realized what had happened she, too, started laughing.  "Refsil, that's enough of that!" she scolded the fox-cub in his own tongue.  He went limp and quit struggling, but still held on, looking dejectedly up at her.  "Let him go, little one.  You cannot eat that!  I will have my friend hawk hunt you up something in the morning."  With that, the cub finally gave way.  Legolas rolled onto his side and set the little thing on the ground again.

            Immediately Refsil lunged at him, this time aiming for his hand.  Legolas smiled and lazily bowled him over.  After wrestling with his hand for a while, the cub began to gnaw on the Elf's fingers.

            "You can speak his language?"

            Wren nodded.  "I have yet to find a creature I cannot speak to.  Well, some insects I have difficulty with, and other crawling things, but not many."

            "Interesting.  Most Elves I know can - Ouch!"  He jerked his hand back out of Refsil's jaw and laughed.  "Watch it, young pup, that one hurt!  Most can understand many creatures, but few can actually respond in the same tongue."  He turned the fox on his back again, barely avoiding another bite.  "Is this little devil yours?"

            She grinned.  "He seems to think so.  Though after this he may start following you around - I have not had the time to play with him."  Thoughtfully she continued.  "Refsil came to Rivendell after his family was killed by wolves.  I offered to look after him for a while."

            "Does that sort of thing happen often?"

            "It never used to," she replied, "but in the past few years I have helped four beasts who now follow me on occasion, including the rascal trying eat your hand!"  She laughed.

            "What are the others?" he asked, prying Refsil off his fingers again.

            "Well, two years ago there was Hwuar, the owl, who'd had a broken wing.  Nesil, the fawn - though he is a mighty stag now - I found just outside the Valley three years ago.  I was never quite sure how his mother was killed - his story was very fragmented.  Sheerkha, the hawk, was knocked out of the nest when she was only just beginning to fledge.  Her parents made the mistake of nesting in a bee tree, and a bear got into it.  One leg and the opposite wing were dislocated and had to be put right."  Wren paused.  "That was last year, in the spring."

            Legolas smiled.  "It is good you are here, then, else they would not have survived."  He sighed and continued.  "My father's realm could certainly use someone of your talents - the dark creatures cause a great deal of pain to those under our protection."

            "Perhaps," she laughed, "Master Elrond would accept that as a good enough reason for me to leave this Valley!"

            "I doubt he would want to put you at such risk.  Losing you would be an evil blow to this world."

            Refsil finally tired of the Elf's fingers and hopped up into Wren's lap, where he promptly fell asleep.  She stared at the little creature.

            "There," Legolas laughed, "I do not think he will follow me, after all!"  He stood and looked at the sky.  "Well, I think it is time I went back, before my fellows send out a search-party."  He turned to go.

            "Thank you for taking the time to speak with me, Legolas," Wren said softly.  "It was not so long ago when the thought of meeting one I did not know would have frozen my heart.  This has helped a great deal to undo that."  She looked up at him.  "Thank you."

            He smiled down at her.  "Nay, little Songbird, it is I who should be thanking you."  And with that he disappeared into the garden, heading towards the House.

            For a long time Wren sat in silence, stroking Refsil's soft fur, and wondering at the Elf-Prince's kind words.


	4. The Halfling Wakes

*Note:  I decided to try updating this and putting it all in html format, since this thing won't take italics in word…or since I can't get it to, anyway.  So this requires my going through each section of story and Save As-ing until I've fixed them all… also I'd found some typos that I'd wanted to correct.  If you find any that are major please tell me!  I will fix them! ------------------------ Part 4 :  The Halfling Wakes 

            Morning rose gently on the day of Frodo's awakening, and Wren was immediately immersed in it.  Though sleep had eluded her the night before, she chose to greet the new day early.  The misty, grey light of dawn found her wandering toward the stables to check on the guests' mounts.  She made no sound on the stone paths, and paid little heed to direction – she knew the way to the stable well enough to let her mind wander, and wander it did.  She thought of many things, but foremost of the danger drawing the strangers to Rivendell and of the Prince of Mirkwood.  

            At the door to the stables she paused, her face suddenly blank.  She reached out and clutched at the air with one delicate hand, trying to steady herself.  "Ai, Eru, please.  No!"  Smitten with a sudden, blinding pain behind her eyes, Wren collapsed, lights swimming within her vision.  In the blackness that followed, a vivid scene appeared.

            _There were people of many races sitting at a long table – they spoke calmly, but the fear was everywhere, just beneath the surface of their words.  The room was wreathed in the black flame of despair, and several forms were wrapped in shadows of doubt.  Some gleamed with the brilliant, pure life force of the Elf kind, and others glowed with hope.  Still, the fire licked at even these, though their spirits fought fiercely against it.  One, smaller than the others, translucent and glowing with a different kind of light, stood and walked into the flame.  Long he kept it at bay, but just as he reached the edge of the fire it began to consume him.  She screamed for him, and tried to reach him, but to no avail.  Suddenly, something else came up out of the darkness and clutched at him.  Wren could not see what occurred next, and she wept.  Eight more stood, following his footsteps into the fire.  From one the fire fled, but the others strove against it.  One fell to its power, and two others shielded the rest from it.  Of these, one was shadowed, and the other faltered, but they all continued on.  They would not stop, though the fire raged about them, tearing at them, dividing them.  They clung to each other – if they reached the edge of the flame, it would be together.  If they fell, they would fall together…_

            Wren came back to herself crouched on her hands and knees, tears streaming down her face from the pain, from the fear.  "Eru!" she gasped.  "Why?  Ai, Elbereth _why_?"  For the better part of an hour she knelt, shivering, when she suddenly felt a gentle touch on her shoulder.

            "Orsúlë, little one, are you alright?"

            Slowly she uncoiled, turning to look at the golden Elf-Lord standing behind her.  His bright eyes were shadowed with concern; a slight frown touched his lips.  Carefully, he helped her to her feet.

            "I-" she began, "I was…just going to – to check on the horses, and…"  Wren wiped the tears from her face.  "Glorfindel, this sight – it will destroy me." 

            He pulled her close and held her, stroking her soft hair.  "Poor child, no.  You would not have been given this gift if you were not strong enough to wield it!  The Powers are not so cruel to their children."  Wren clung to him for a few moments, like a lifeline to peaceful reality.  "Can you tell me," Glorfindel asked finally, "what it was you saw that troubled you so?"

            She pulled back and looked up at him, searching his eyes.  Usually, she told her visions to no one but Lord Elrond, but Glorfiendel had never asked before.  What made him do so now?  _Fool,_ she chided herself, _he is like an uncle to you, or a brother.  He asks out of concern, nothing more.  Stop trying to see enemies everywhere!_  Tentatively, and then in a rush, she told him what she had seen.  His soft expression darkened while she spoke, and as she finished, he placed a hand beneath her chin and forced her to meet his eyes.  

            "Elrond must hear of this," he said softly.  "You will tell him?"

            "I know.  I intend to."  She looked away, letting her eyes travel along the climbing vines beside the path.  "Still, I do not know how many times I can repeat this without… without falling apart."  Wren pulled a flower toward her, gazing into its moon-white depths.

            Glorfindel touched her arm.  "If you wish, Little Bird, I can speak to him for you."  Soft entreaty colored his voice.

            Suddenly Wren laughed, all childish bubble.  "What, my friend, are you acting the part dear Elrohir would take?  My protector and guardian?  The dear older brother?"  

            The Elf Lord smiled at her.  "Ah, Ever-Child, you have seen my ruse.  They asked me to keep an eye on you while they were gone, but as Elrond had asked me to find the hobbits and bring them here, I was unable to keep my promise."  With a soft sigh, he looked toward the stable door, the rush roof and pale walls golden in the morning light.  "I am sorry, Wren.  I wish I could spare more time for you, but there is evil rising again in the east.  I wish your visions would give you peace until the brothers and I can help you."

            Her eyes grew distant.  "Until the fall of the fire and the end of the darkness I will have no peace – not while I remain in Rivendell."

            Glorfindel looked at her sharply.  "What do you mean?"

            Startled by the tone in his voice she turned and drew away.  "Nothing!  Nothing, Glorfindel.  Just a thought, a feeling that has been growing in my heart.  There has been much in my sight, of late, about evil that must be destroyed."  She knew he was not fooled.  "Thank you, for offering to tell Lord Elrond what I saw."  Hastily she turned away.  "I must check on the horses, my friend…"  With a sudden flash of smile, Wren dashed into the stable.

            The older Elf watched her go, puzzled and concerned by her words.  _Not while I remain in Rivendell…_  What was she planning?  He shook his head, and turned back to the House.  He would tell Elrond of her vision as he had offered, but as yet, he decided, he would say nothing of his concerns.

            Dismayed by the treachery of her own tongue, yet unable to keep the glowing morn from lifting her spirits, Wren meandered from stall to stall, looking in on the noble steeds of Rivendell's guests.  The Elven horses were well awake, but Bill the pony and Tiren of Gondor grumbled at being disturbed so early.  Gwiaen was tapping on one side of his stall with his hoof, an arresting, hypnotic pattern which he had apparently been repeating for some time.  Miranë looked at Wren and sighed mournfully with a slight toss of her head.  With his graceful white neck stretched out over the stall door, Asfaloth was attempting to reach the pin that unlocked his door – the tapping threatened his sanity.  Only Falrahes seemed to find it amusing, mostly because it was irking Tiren to no end.  Bill, somehow, ignored it.

            "My my, what have we here?" Wren chimed.

            Startled, Asfaloth jerked his head back in alarm.  Upon seeing the young half-Elf, he paced a quick, relieved circle in the stall and returned to the door to look entreatingly at her.  "Get.  Me.  Out.  Of.  Here!" he demanded, emphasizing each word with a shake of his head.

            She looked down the aisle at the colt.  "Gwiaen," she demanded, "that is quite enough."

            Gwiaen stopped in mid-strike, hoof raised, and turned to see who had spoken.  Shying back into the stall, he meekly obeyed.  "Yes, Lady," he whickered.

            Asfaloth lowered his head with a sigh, and gave Wren a look of sheerest gratitude.  But it was Miranë who spoke first.

            "Thank you, Mistress.  I never thought to see the day when I could not sway the actions of my own blood, but he refused to listen."  She paused.  "Though it did not help that he was encouraged by one of higher station than myself."  Miranë shot a wicked glare at Falrahes, one that bespoke danger to his precious hide if she caught him off guard later.

            The stallion ignored her and looked instead to Wren.  "Well, good morning, Lady!  I trust you had a pleasant night?" he added with a snicker.  She stared at him.  "What, you think we would not have heard?  Our masters were here less than half an hour ago talking amongst themselves."  He tilted his head thoughtfully.  "They said little, in truth, save to wonder where their Lord had been.  Of course he answered them, but was quieter than usual, reflective."  Again his tone became light.  "Would you know why, Mistress?" he teased.

            Wren looked at Bill, who was now wide awake.  "And how was your night, my friend?" she inquired, avoiding the stallion's question.

            The pony shook his mane.  "Nay, Wren, I shall not let you dodge this one.  I am just as curious as he, this time."  The half-Elf stared at him.  "I realize this is none of our business.  But Asfaloth has told us much about you and your silence, and we heard the Wizard's words yesterday.  All of us would like to know how you managed."

            Dropping down upon a stool, Wren sighed in despair.  "Alas, friends, you conspire against me!  I was trying not to think about it."

            Asfaloth reached out over his stall door and nudged her with his muzzle.  "Did it not go well, child?"

            She smiled up at him.  "No, it was lovely.  For the first time in centuries I was able to properly speak with another Elf, knowing I was not being judged."  Wren turned then to Falrahes.  "Your master is most noble, my friend."  The stallion proudly arched his neck.  Miranë snickered at his vanity.

            Wren's smile slowly dimmed, and she stared vacantly at the dusty floor.  Tiren, who had been watching through one sleepy eye, focused on her at last.  "Are you alright, Mistress?"

            Blinking up at him, she replied, "I have never really been able to trust before.  Elrond and his children, and Gandalf I trust, of course, but few others.  Yet, for some reason, I know I need not fear Legolas."  She said the name softly, testing it, tasting it.  There was something about him that meshed with her visions, and though she knew she would continue to be wary of him, she would no longer be afraid.  Asfaloth, oblivious to her revelation, snorted indignantly.  She smiled.  "And of course I trust Glorfindel.  There are others, now, but my point is, never have I trusted anyone so readily."  

            "True, but if you truly intend to follow through with your plans, then perhaps you are learning none too soon."  Wren looked into the stallion's pale eyes and nodded.  If she really planned to leave Imladris, she would need all the help she could find along the way.

            The conversation was making Wren uneasy.  She hoped to be able to slip unnoticed out of the Valley, preferably during a time when Master Elrond's attention was elsewhere.  As it is now, she thought.  But I cannot depart until I know…what is coming.

            Until now she had only confided her desire to flee Rivendell to none but Asfaloth, yet due to a slip of her distressed tongue his Elven master was now guessing at it.  She prayed no others found out.  Glorfindel could be trusted to say nothing to any who might stop her, though he himself might try.  She could only wait and see.  

            With a smile, Wren politely took leave of the horses and quit the stables.  She had made a promise to Refsil, and intended to fulfill it.

She found the young fox basking lazily in the sun on a large rock beside one of the Valley's many streams.  He barked and wagged his tail at her approach, but seemed to find the fish he had been watching far more interesting.  Wren laughed.  "Well, little one, would you like some of those fish?"  He jumped eagerly to his feet, tail lashing enthusiastically.  Indeed he would!

 Scanning the sky with her bright Elven eyes, Wren loosed a shrill cry.  Poor Refsil, caught unprepared, yelped in fright and slid into the water.  He scrabbled at the rock before moving toward the softer earth beside it and climbed out, bedraggled and disheartened, to find Wren collapsed in a heap on the ground, giggling madly.  He glared at her, and stepped back onto the rock with as much dignity as a wet fox cub can muster.  It was too much for the Elf.  She rolled onto her side, tears of laughter streaming from her eyes, and clutched her stomach, trying to breathe.  Refsil sat down, head to one side, and watched her mournfully.

Summoned by Wren's call, an elegantly barred hawk now circled low above the pair.  She watched in amusement for a few moments, before landing in a nearby tree with a questioning trill.  Wren tried to get herself under control, wiping her eyes and carefully sitting up.  Her ribcage was sore – she had not laughed so hard in a very long time.  

"Good morning, Sheerkah," she greeted the bird, still grinning.  "How are the winds today?"

"The winds waft soft and sweet from the west, but they are turning," replied Sheerkah.  "Soon they will come from the north.  The weather grows cold higher up, and there will be snow in a few weeks."  It was hard to believe, on this sunny autumn day, that winter was rapidly approaching, but Wren had seen enough sudden snows to hold no doubt of the hawk's words.

"Ah!" Wren sighed.  "You bring depressing news, my friend!"  Her smile never dimmed.  "Winter, already?  Alas!"  Refsil barked, irritated at being left out.  Wren turned and reassured him.  "Yes, little one, I was just coming to that!"  She looked back to Sheerkah.  "Would you be willing to do a bit of fishing, for our little fox?" 

The hawk regarded Refsil placidly, and the poor cub wilted under her steely gaze.  "I think, perhaps, I may be able to help him.  Do you think the cub would mind if I took some for myself, while I am fishing?"  Though the fox could not see it, Sheerkah was highly amused by his unease.

The Elven-Maid did see it, but decided to let the hawk play it's game.  "Well I see no reason why he should mind.  Besides, you need to eat, wind-rider, and if you do not eat the fish, you may need to find other nourishment…"  She glanced at Refsil, only to find the poor creature trembling in sudden terror, and could torment him no longer.  She gathered the young cub into her lap, and stroked his fur until his shivering ceased.  "Poor cub, we are only teasing you!  Were she starving I would not let her touch you.  She will get you some fish.  Now, be easy, friend." 

Refsil snuggled closer, turning his soft brown eyes on her, accusing, still shrinking away from Sheerkah.  Then, he licked her wrist and lowered his head upon her hand.  She gently scratched his chin.

The elegant bird turned her attention away from the frightened creature and back to Wren.  "I will fish for the cub.  He is noble, if timid, but he is young.  Time will heal his fear."  She launched herself from the branch, and lifted herself high above the trees.  Soon she was out of sight.

Smiling, the half-Elf rocked the cub, gently.  "There now, you have impressed her, little one.  Do not fear her."  An instant later Sheerkah streaked down out of the sky, skimming the surface of the bright stream.  She circled and dropped a fat fish on the ground in front of them.  It flopped wildly for a few moments, and Refsil, curious, crept off Wren's lap and began to examine it.  Tentatively, he batted at it with his paw.  Wren laughed.

"It is perfectly edible, Refsil, but first you must kill it."  He glared at her, and turned back to the fish.

Again the hawk fell from the sky, emerging from the water with a larger fish for herself.  She perched once more, and began to rend the shining flesh with her sharp beak.  Refsil watched her carefully, and soon was following her example.  Both Elf and hawk were filled with pride at the sight.  The fox had made its first substantial kill.

For some time after they had finished eating, Sheerkah and Refsil remained with Wren, taking pleasure in the company.  But the hawk could not stay too long, and took leave of them.  Tired of sitting, Refsil started bounding along the paths of Rivendell's gardens, with his Elven guardian trailing him cheerfully.  Suddenly, both stopped, alert, and the fox's ears turned as he tried to catch the sound that had startled them both.  Through the trees they could hear fair voices approaching, speaking in an accent strange to Rivendell.  The Sylvan Elves of Mirkwood!  Refsil immediately recognized the voice of Legolas, and darted throught the bushes toward them.  Wren gasped.

"Refsil, no!" she hissed.  Then clasped her hands across her mouth lest she betray her presence.

The voices gradually grew nearer, and soon she could hear their words plainly.

"We have brought our message, Lord.  We should return to Mirkwood."

The reply was gentle, yet tinged with light annoyance.  "I am not keeping you here.  Go home, if you wish."

"We cannot leave you here!" exclaimed the third Elf.  "Your father-"

"My father does not need me there," Legolas hissed.  There was a moment of stunned silence.  "Lord Thranduil needed a Grey-Elven daughter to keep within the palace and train to follow his rule, not a son with the Sylvan temperament."

"My Lord, surely you do not mean that!"

"Alas, Cerian, I do.  I – hey!  What have we here?"  A short yip answered him, and he laughed.  "Well met, little one!  Have you come to torment my poor fingers again?"  

"Who is this, Lord Legolas?"  inquired the other Elf.  

"This rascal is Refsil, a friend of one of the Elves here…" his voice trailed off.  "Where is your mistress, my friend?" he added to the fox.

            _Oh, Elbereth, please!  Not now!_  Wren thought desperately, dropping to her knees.  She was not ready to face him again.  Fortunately, Legolas was not willing to press the matter.

            "Ah, you cannot tell me, eh?  I understand."  Again he laughed.

            The one called Cerian also chuckled.  "He is a bold creature!"

            The Elven prince did not reply immediately, but addressed the cub.  "I appreciate your visit, little one, thank you.  Go and keep your Lady company."  Refsil barked, and she heard him scamper back into the undergrowth.  Legolas continued.  "He is an orphan, and pure luck brought him here.  He would not have survived, else." 

            "Ah, I see."

            As they continued along the path, they continued their earlier discussion.  "Well, friends, I cannot return to Mirkwood until after Elrond holds his council – I spoke with him but could not give him all the information we have.  Until the Hobbit wakes there can be no council."  Gradually they drifted out of earshot.

            Refsil leapt up into Wren's lap and began licking her face.  He seemed incredibly pleased with himself.  She sighed and scratched his soft back, almost wishing Legolas had followed him.

            "Alas, little one!  You torment my poor heart."  The cub looked inquisitively up at her, and she laughed.  "Of course, you would not understand.  All you know is that he plays with you!  However," she added sternly, "wait until I am not with you to go see him again.  Do not lead him to me, please."  

            He barked in agreement.  Wren petted him once more, stood, and made her way back to the House.

             Imladris was in a jubilant uproar.  Wren could not get a coherent word out of anyone until she found Aragorn standing on a balcony overlooking the stream.  She froze, and considered moving on, but before she was decided, he saw her and smiled.  Resigned to the inevitable, she steeled herself and walked toward him.  

            "Good afternoon, Bright One," he greeted her.  "You look well, if somewhat vexed."  He raised a questioning eyebrow.

            "Indeed, my Lord," she sighed.  "Something is afoot, and no one will explain it to me!  The entire place is rejoicing!  It must be wonderful to know what is going on…"

            Aragorn laughed.  "Will no one take pity on you, Lady?  Today is a great day for our peoples.  The Hobbit, Frodo, has awakened and seems to be well on his way to recovery."  His smile was full of relief, yet he seemed older, somehow.

            "Oh!" Wren exclaimed.  "That is wonderful!  Bilbo will be thrilled.  And Gandalf!  I imagine he is as pleased as a little boy."  For a moment she was silent, looking intently at him.  "Frodo's brush with death has been hard on you, has it not?"

            He shook his head in wonder.  "You are as perceptive as ever, Wren.  Yes, it has."  Aragorn turned to stare out at the valley, with its clear streams and bright gardens and forests turning golden with the approaching winter.  "I have grown close to the little Hobbits along our journey here.  I partly blame myself for his injury, though there was little enough I could have done to prevent it."  He ran a hand through his dark hair, glancing at her with a wan smile.  "But he is awake, and the world seems a little brighter."

            The half-Elf grinned.  "I am thrilled to hear of it.  At some point, I should like to speak to him and learn of his journey.  He had never left his home until now, true?  So I should like to know how he views the Wide World."  Her eyes narrowed.  "You are a traveler and see it one way, but we who never leave our homes see it quite differently." 

            He smiled.  "Yes, that is true.  It is difficult to understand how a Ranger sees the Wilds."  After a few moments he continued.  "Arwen told me what happened."

            "Oh?  And what did the Lady say?"

            Aragorn sighed.  "I am sorry that our meeting caused this rift between you and her, Little Bird.  I wish I could change that.  She understands that we are kin, that this is why you desired to speak with me, and does not object to our conversation."  He laughed.  "Fortunately she understands that she cannot keep me from the company of friends."

            "Thank you," Wren replied softly.  "I am sorry if this is causing dissonance between you and the Lady.  Still, I am grateful for your intervention."

            The wind swirled around the balcony, stirring the Ranger's dark cloak.  The young Elf turned into it, looking up at the sky, breathing deeply of the autumn air.  Aragorn watched her, always amazed by her manner.  If not for Arwen…  But no.  Arwen was his heart's only desire.  It was the fear of his waning affections that had worried the Lady at the first, and Wren's shifts would not be easy to deal with.  "I would not see you pained, child.  You sought only friendship – she was not aware of that, I suppose."

            "And information," Wren grinned.  "That was far more interesting.  Besides, Dúnadan, I needed to know about the world – that you are my kin only made it easier to speak with you."

            He threw back his head in a hearty laugh, shaken from his somber thoughts by her sudden child-like mirth.  "I am glad you did not actually wish for my company!"  She only smiled in reply.  "You seem to be learning to deal with others at last, Wren.  I heard you were greeting Elrond's guests as they arrived.  Those I spoke to had naught but good to say about the soft-spoken groom."

            "I am glad to hear it.  Who all mentioned me?"

            "Not many, little one:  two of the Elves from Mirkwood, and several of the Dwarves.  The Man of Gondor I have avoided at Gandalf's behest."

            "Wise.  When did you speak with them?"  

            Aragorn was thoughtful for a moment.  "Well, I spoke to Glóin and his son this morning, as well as the Elf, Cerian.  I spoke to the other Dwarves and Legolas yesterday evening.  The Elf-Lord apparently had just quit the Hall of Fire in favor of the gardens."

            "Oh?"  Wren tried to sound uninterested.  "What did he have to say?"

            "Would it matter?  He seemed sympathetic.  How he knew your situation, I do not know."

            She laughed nervously.  "I wonder."  After a moment of thoughtful silence she continued.  "Thank you for telling me of the Hobbit's recovery, Lord Aragorn."

            He bowed.  "My pleasure, Lady.  There will be a feast tonight, in his honor, if you plan to attend.  I intend to go, and Arwen will be there, but so too will Gandalf and Glorfindel.  It may do you good to go."

            Wren smiled.  "It may, but I shall not."  Her eyes grew distant, vague.  "I doubt that you will be there either, my Lord.  The wheel is again turning, events are set in motion that will bear heavily upon the future, and you will need to know what arises."  Slowly she pulled back out of her daze and looked up into his worried eyes.  "I must go, my friend.  I will speak to you again."  With that, she turned and went back into the house.  Once again the Dúnadan was left staring after her in amazement.

            The Half-Elf was left to occupy herself for the rest of the afternoon, mostly at tasks she usually avoided.  Several of her tunics had fraying hems or worn patches and needed mending, and the edging was coming removed from one of her gowns.  All were articles she had sewn herself, years ago.  What might have taken another lady but a short while took Wren all afternoon.  Her ineptitude with the needle was the reason the garments were coming apart in the first place.  With a resigned sigh, she carefully picked out the old stitching and reworked each delicate pattern as accurately as possible.  She would generally enlist the aid of one of Arwen's ladies when crafting new clothing – otherwise her efforts were doomed to failure.

            As evening approached, and the time of the banquet drew near, Wren heard the distant sounds of travelers returning to a warm greeting.  She smiled when two familiar voices drifted to her ears.  Like they were, yet easily distinguished by her keen ears.  The brothers!  She dropped the last of her sewing and ran to her window, listening for their direction.  After a moment's deliberation, she dashed out of the room and through the halls of Rivendell.  She stopped in a courtyard near where Elrond's twin sons were being greeted by the first familiar faces they had seen since parting with the Rangers weeks earlier.  Much as she wanted to see them again, she realized they would first need to speak with their father, probably, or Aragorn or Gandalf.  Regretting the impulse that had led her to immediately seek them out, she slowly turned back toward the house.  As she moved, the moonlight shone off her hair and made her pale gown glow.

            "Wren!"  A clear, gentle voice called to her, as she was suddenly visible in the darkness.  She paused.  "Little Bird, one moment!"  Light footsteps approached and she pivoted toward them, smiling brightly.

            "Welcome home, Star Rider," she whispered.

            Elrohir laughed, but there was dark concern behind his eyes.  "It is good to be back, my friend.  I wondered when I would have a moment to come speak with you, yet it seems you decided to find us first!"

            "Of course!  How could I not welcome my closest friends back to the Valley?"

            For a moment the dark-haired Elf was thoughtful.  "Of course, yet I assumed we would have to seek you out in your rooms, or in the gardens.  I hear you have been a bit more…visible of late."

            Wren shrugged.  "So I understand.  I just-"

            He held up a hand, forestalling her explanations, and smiled sadly.  "I cannot stay now to hear your story, Wren.  Elladan and I must speak with our father immediately, if possible.  I merely wanted to see how you have been."  Gently he placed a hand on her shoulder.  "When I get a few hours, some time over the next few days, I will come find you, that we may talk.  Perhaps I can even convince my brother to join us."  Wren smiled at this.  Elladan was more of a teacher than a friend to her, and rarely joined them unless she asked for training.  "Although," he continued after a brief silence, "as the weather seems to be holding, it might be wise to take to the field and work on your archery."

            "It matters not," she replied, shaking her head.  "I am glad to see you and your brother safely home.  However, I do not know if you will be able to speak with Lord Elrond soon – there is a feast tonight in honor of the recovery of one of Rivendell's guests.  Lord Aragorn is here, though.  He would hear your news, and, perhaps, relate to you the goings on of the past few days."

            "Aragorn!  I did not know he would be here.  That is very well, indeed.  Thank you, Bright One.  Elladan and I will seek him out."  He turned and started back towards the other courtyard where his brother waited.  

            Wren smiled, but a sudden thought made her call out to him.  "Elrohir?"  He paused and looked back.

            "Yes?"

            "Will the fire of darkness reach Imladris?"

            Long used to her strange insight, he was not surprised by her question.  His fair face turned grave.  "I know not, Little Bird.  I pray that it does not."  And he withdrew, leaving Wren alone with her unsettled thoughts.  

She took herself back inside to finish her mending, and then took up a project that she had started years before.  Her lack of skill with the needle forced her to redo entire sections at times.  It was a long cloak of dark green, edged in mithril threads with an intricate pattern of stars and moons entwined with twisting vines of gold.  She had chosen a Moonstar for the central figure, which would cover the back of the cloak in gold and silver with sapphires and diamonds adding their own fire to it.  Who she made it for, she did not know – it was far too long for her.  Arwen had once said that Wren prayed she would not spend eternity alone; that this cloak would be the Half-Elven's wedding gift to her beloved.  Perhaps the Lady was right.  Wren would not say.


	5. Note

1 Part 5: Elrond's Council  
  
  
  
Okay people, I'm incredibly sorry. It's taking me forever to finish these chapters! I'm in college right now, though, and have a pretty heavy workload. It may be awhile before this chapter is up, but I PROMISE I will do it! It just may be a few weeks. I get out of here in the second week of May, so it won't take as long for this chapter as for the last one. (I hope!) Just bear with me. I'm too wrapped up in the story to quit now! Lol  
  
Thank you for all the wonderful reviews! I'm not used to people reading my work, so this has been great. I really appreciate it. I don't intend to let Wren become a Mary Sue. *prays* However, there is so much that the term encompasses! Don't kill me if it happens by accident, though I'll do everything I can to keep it from occurring. I don't really want her to become one of the fellowship, either. I have something in mind…but I don't want to give it away! 


	6. Elrond's Council

Okay…  It's been far more than the few weeks I'd hoped to finish this in.  I am VERY sorry, people, but what with my summer job, and then last semester deciding to try to kill me, I just wasn't able to work on it much.  However, now that the new semester has started, I intend to write a lot, so with any luck I can post a few more chapters.  I am posting these chapters as I write them, however; so it could be awhile until the next is up.  Although, since this chapter is basically setting up the next – I think – it should go a little faster.  I hope!  We'll just have to see what happens.  The recently released Two Towers has boosted my enthusiasm for this story as well – it made me think of how I want to write that section…  *grin*  Well  here it goes!  Enjoy! 

Part 5:  Elrond's Council 

            The bustle of activity in Rivendell that morning was unusual; however, stranger still was the silence in which everyone carried out their duties.  Wren, one of the few with no task assigned to her, wandered about the House in bemusement, helping where she could when permitted.  Eventually, she gave up even this and fled the quiet chaos for the peace of the gardens.  She glanced back when she reached the nearest courtyard and very nearly ran into a green-clad back – she turned back around to find herself bare inches away from a forest-colored tunic partially hidden by long golden hair.  With a shocked exclamation, she quickly retreated several paces, and the owner of the back turned in surprise.

            "Wren!"  Legolas, startled out of his manners, for a moment could think of nothing else to say.  He visibly collected himself and bowed, smiling.  "Good morning, My Lady.  I take it you found the frantic atmosphere in there a little overwhelming as well?" he added, straightening.

            She smiled tentatively.  "Yes – enough so, I'm afraid, that I nearly ran into you in my haste to escape.  Still, there are worse people to run into, I suppose."  One delicate, golden eyebrow rose in response, and she continued in a rush.  "Were you the man from Gondor, I would have been worse than embarrassed, I fear.  I am not ready to face Men."  She dropped her eyes to the pale flagstones beneath her feet.  Suddenly there was a slightly larger, soft shoed foot immediately in front of her own.  Momentarily she shifted her attention to it, puzzled, when a gentle hand firmly took hold of her chin.

            She found herself forced to look up into a pair of the deepest blue eyes she had ever seen, though now they were drawn with concern.  _I had not noticed his eyes before…_  "Wren, what happened before you came to Imladris?"  His voice was gentler even than it had been two nights ago.  He almost took her off her guard.

            "Before I…"  Her eyes widened in shock and fear, and she jerked backwards out of his grasp with such force that she stumbled and almost fell.  Instinctively, Legolas reached out to steady her, stopping with one arm outstretched as he recalled that it was in escaping his touch that she had nearly fallen.  He let his arm drop, but his eyes were still dark with worry.

            "Little Bird…" he murmured.

            Wren slowly passed a hand across her brow, and the panic drained out of her eyes, leaving the frightened Elf-child trembling in it's wake.  "Forgive me, Lord," she whispered.  "I was…  Much happened in those days that I would prefer not to relive by recalling them.  It was not a pleasant time, though that is the only time I spent with family."  She frowned at her own words.  _Why do I keep betraying myself by telling him these things?_

            "You lived with your mother then?" he inquired, wandering toward a nearby stone bench and dropping unconcernedly onto it.  For that moment he lost all Elven grace, looking simply weary and unhappy.

            "Yes."

            "I am sorry.  It's a terrible thing, losing a parent.  I am fortunate, I suppose, considering that my father still lives.  Although that brings a different set of problems entirely."  He sighed, and, closing his eyes, began rubbing his temples.  A headache had been lingering at the edges of his skull all morning – trying to get through Wren's barriers brought it out in force, and there was still the council to attend.

            Wren could see the discomfort etched into his expression and slowly, silently made her way towards the bench.  "I imagine it does, though I never really knew my father, so I could not say."  Legolas looked up at her, the question written in his eyes.  "He could not come around the village much – the men saw my mother as one of their women and did not appreciate the Elf's presence.  He brought me here when things became…"  She flinched away from the memory and stood in silence for a moment.  "He…left, almost immediately after, to get my mother.  She'd taken ill and needed…"  Swallowing, she stared up at the sky, eyes wide so that the wind could dry the tears she feared to shed.  "They were attacked on the way back here.  From what I heard, my father was killed then, leaving my mother to wander aimlessly until her illness took her."

            "It must have been awful.  I'm terribly sorry.  And I apologize for…prying.  I did not intend-"

            The Half-Elf's quick headshake interrupted him.  "You did nothing, Legolas.  At times I need to…talk.  Elrond knows.  That was why he encouraged his sons to keep an eye on me."  Her eyes narrowed as he again rubbed his forehead.  She moved to stand before him.  "Legolas."  Startled, he peered up at her, and the sudden shift of focus made him slightly dizzy.  Wren reached out a delicate hand and touched her palm to his forehead.  As she closed her eyes, a cooling sensation enveloped his skull, easing the throbbing headache that had taken over the space between his ears.  He did not get headaches often – no Elf was plagued by such trivial things – but when he did get them, they were quite bad.

            Eyes still tightly closed, Wren slowly lowered her hand, swaying a little.  Legolas stood and caught her just as she collapsed.  He gently set her on the bench.  "Wren?  Are you alright, little one?"  She opened her eyes, blinking at him in slight confusion.  "What happened?"

            She smiled slightly.  "I keep forgetting that I am not supposed to do that," she answered sheepishly.  "Sometimes I can heal – it comes from being a blood relation to Elrond, I suppose.  I terrified him the first time I tried it, passing out the way I did.  He said if it affects me so badly I should not do it, but how else will I get better at it?"

            "It hardly seems worth the consequences!"  Legolas stared at her.  Had she no concern for her own well-being?

            The laugh that escaped her lips thrilled along his skin like the music of a mountain stream.  "What would it matter?  I am the least of this House – Elrond has been more than generous by treating me as one of his own."  Her eyes grew sad, though her smile did not fade.  "Besides, I am already plagued by this sort of thing, though the cause is different.  I am not concerned." 

            "Yet-" 

            Wren fixed him with a steady gaze, and he suddenly felt like a child caught at misbehaving.  "Do you not have a council to prepare for?"

            He started.  "I-" Many thoughts circled within his mind, the foremost being that it was probably time for a hasty retreat if he did not wish to make an utter fool of himself.  He bowed low.  "My lady."  As he turned to go, he suddenly remembered-  "Wren?"

            She smiled up at him.  "Yes?"

            Legolas tapped one fingertip against the side of his forehead.  "Thank you," he said gently, and disappeared into the House.

            Chuckling, Wren tipped her head back to stare at the clear autumn sky.  _Now why have I been avoiding him? _she thought.  _He is so courteous and sympathetic._  That thought hardened the half-Elf's features.  _But I do not want his pity.  _She sighed._  I do need some companionship – it's getting harder and harder to pretend that I want to be left alone._  "I'm so weary of being alone…" she murmured.  Drained by her exertion, she slowly drifted into a half-sleep.

*          *            *

            "It's still not fair!"  The half-shouted plea woke Wren from her doze.  For the briefest instant she did not know where she was, other than that it was still Rivendell.  Her hand touched the cool solidity of the stone bench on which she sat and she remembered.

            Another voice answered the first, but it was muffled, hushed, and she was not paying enough attention to understand.

            "I don't care.  Sam and Bilbo got to go – why couldn't we?"  Wren recognized this voice, now.  The younger Hobbit…what was his name?…ah!  Pippin!  That meant the other voice had to be Merry.

            "Sam didn't 'get to go,' he snuck in, and if we made a fuss they'd have made him leave.  You know he's only risking it because he's so glad Frodo is alive, he doesn't want to be separated from him."

            "What, and we aren't pleased enough with his recovery?  We want to be away from him?"

            "Now, you know that's not what I meant!"  Wren wondered how long this discussion had been going on.  Both sounded quite agitated, though she was uncertain what exactly they were discussing.  Pippin was in the middle of another irritated outburst when the two Hobbits reached the courtyard where she sat.

            "We fought the whole way here just to stay by him, so why do we have to-" he broke off, and froze mid-step when he noticed her sitting just ahead of them, watching.  "Wren – what are you doing here?"

            She arched an eyebrow.  "I do live here, friends.  One might run into me just about anywhere.  Am I disrupting your…discussion?"

            Merry shifted uncomfortably, but shook his head.  "N- not really.  Pippin was just…  We were talking about the council, and-"

            "They wouldn't let us go!"  Pippin cried.  "They didn't stop Sam from going!"

            "Sam snuck in, remember?"  Merry elbowed his companion in the ribs.

            "Yeah, but it's not like no one noticed him.  I doubt the Elves would miss him, and he could hardly slip past Gandalf!"

            Wren decided to intervene before their argument could resume.  "Come, friends, do not quarrel here," she admonished, rising.  "I understand that you were quite worried about your friend, and do not like to be left out of things after having come so far, but I imagine Lord Elrond and Gandalf want as few people as possible to know what is discussed at this council.  If they feel you need to know, they will tell you."  Smiling down at the Hobbits, she held out a hand to each of them.  "Come with me – I will show you the Valley.  Surely you have not yet had a chance to see much of it, and it shall take your minds off this council."

            They slipped their small hands into hers, and she led them away from the house.

            "Lady," Pippin said, tentatively, as they passed through the clearing where Wren had spoken with Legolas, "why aren't you at the council?"

            "I?"  She was taken aback.  "Why would I attend?"

            Merry looked up at her.  "You're related to Elrond, right?  Why wouldn't you go?"

            Wren trailed her delicate fingers in the waterfall, then moved passed it, turning to face them.  "You forget, little ones," she said sadly.  "I have no influence here.  My kinship with Lord Elrond does not change the fact that most of his people still do not quite trust me."  With a wave of her hand she stepped into the trees.  The Hobbits followed quickly.

            "But Elrond trusts you – isn't that enough for them?" Pippin asked.

            "For some, yes," she sighed, "but not for all.  I had only met one Elf before my arrival here, and was consequently more like Men than most half-Elves.  I avoided the Elves here for years, and never allowed myself to…to…"  Abruptly she stopped and looked sharply at them.  "Why this sudden interest in my place here?"

            "You seem sad, Wren."  Merry replied, embarrassed.  "All of the Elves we've seen so far are so happy.  I can't help but wonder, why should you be unhappy?"

            The half-Elf could not think of a reason, and did not answer as she led her small companions to the field beyond the stables, where the horses were grazing.  They had not seen Bill since their arrival in Rivendell, and he trotted gaily over to them, head and tail high.  Asfaloth paused his grazing to see what had caught the pony's attention, and, seeing Wren, he kicked up his heels and joined them as well.  While the Hobbits fussed over Bill, Wren reached out to stroke the white stallion's fine-boned face.

            "Well, my friend, things are moving again.  Glorfindel has mentioned the council to you, I imagine?"

            "Yes.  But you know that he will not leave Imladris this time, no matter what is decided.  He has fought his share of battles."  He glanced sidelong at Bill.  "This one will not be so fortunate, I think."

            Wren laughed, and the Hobbits, unable to understand what had been said, looked curiously at her.  "Fortunate!  Yes, anyone would be fortunate to be able to remain here during what is to come, but Bill will follow the Hobbits." Her smile faded slightly.  "But you cannot fool me, dear Asfaloth – I have known you too long.  You are as anxious to be away as I."

            "Are we such fools, Wren?" he asked, pawing the earth.

            "I do no know, my friend; you ask the wrong person.  I want out of Imladris more than anything, so it does not seem foolish to me."

            Bill looked over at them.  "You are not permitted to leave, Mistress?"

            She shook her head.  "Because of my Sight, Elrond believes I would be in too much danger outside the Valley."  With a sigh, she leaned back against a tree and peered up at the sun through its branches – gold on autumn gold.  A little bird hopped about on the boughs and chirped merrily at her.  An idea came to her.  Holding out her hand, she called it down.  Asfaloth watched in amusement as she spoke to it, waiting until she sent it away to question her.

            "What was that about?" he inquired, and at almost the same instant, Pippin asked the same.  Wren laughed.

            "You asked why I am not at the council, Pippin – I answered you truly.  However, I had not recalled, at that moment, that it is possible for me to know everything that goes on at the council without actually attending."  Grinning, she added, "I have sent a spy, to listen."  She repeated her answer for Asfaloth.

            He tossed his head.  "Lord Elrond will not like that, Child.  Should the bird be waylaid or captured, the Enemy could gain important information."  

            Wren was horrified.  Again, her mind had betryed her, and she had not thought of all the possible consequences.  "Captured… here?"

            "Not even Imladris is proof against all the Enemy's spies.  Elrond knows of most of the creatures that enter his Valley, but some things do slip past.  Glorfindel tells me that only Lothlorien is entirely barricaded against the darkness."

            The half-Elf shuddered.  She had unwittingly endangered…everything.  "I must call him back, then.  Yet he is most likely already there, and I do not know if I will be able to reach him without drawing Master Elrond's notice."

            The Hobbits were perplexed by her sudden dismay.  "Wren, what's the matter?"

Merry asked, concerned.

            She turned to him, her face stricken.  "I have done ill, I fear, though I did not intend so.  Something more to be used against trusting me, should anyone learn of it..."  Wren bit her lip, looking into the woods in the direction of the House.  "Can you two find your way back, do you think?"

            "We should be able to," replied Pippin.

            "As long as I lead – if Pip takes us back we'll undoubtedly get lost."  Merry received a sharp elbow in the side for his comment.

            Too distressed to notice their antics, Wren nodded, then met their eyes, her own pleading.  "I beg you, friends, do not mention to anyone the bird I sent to the council.  I was selfishly curious and did not think, and I only hope I have not caused any trouble by sending him.  But please, tell no one!"

            The two agreed, her expression and tone reminding them of nothing so much as a Hobbit child caught with something not hers, and Wren dashed off.  Asfaloth stared after her, saddened.  She had been doing so well at controlling her child-like self, but the thoughtlessness of her trying to spy on the council had proven that it was not was not entirely under her control.  Not yet.

*          *            *

            Wren dashed through the woods of Imladris, and the gardens – her soft shoes made almost no sound on the cool flagstones as she neared the House.  The Council was being held in one of the courtyards and would most likely be well guarded.  Getting near the council would be practically impossible – for her.  Not, perhaps, for her feathered friends.  She had counted on as much when she asked the little bird to spy for her.  It seemed the very thing she needed, was another small wind-chaser.  

At her desperate chirping call, four sparrows and two finches all fluttered over to her, landing on her hands and shoulders, and on the ground at her feet.  One boldly tried to perch on her head, immediately getting it's tiny feet caught in her golden hair, and had to be gently loosed before it could panic.  Quickly, she explained what she needed of them and that it was necessary that they go quietly.  Her shame for her selfish curiosity burned like white fire – even telling the birds of her childish action filled her with humiliation.  Fortunately, the little birds took pity on their friend and swiftly removed to find her spy.  Only one remained behind.

Wren recognized him as the finch that had told her of the trio of Elves coming to Rivendell from Mirkwood.  He fixed her with a steady gaze, his bright black eyes unwinking.  She quailed under the weight of that stare – for though he was tiny, he was obviously measuring her by some inner standard.  It was clear he did not approve.

"Y-yes, my friend?" she prompted.  The finch gave no reply, but after another moment of piercing scrutiny, he flew after his fellows.  With a deep sigh of relief, the half-Elf collapsed onto a nearby bench.  

As she waited, she admired anew the beauty of the Elven haven.  After living among men, this place had seemed like another world entirely, and the effect its serene elegance had on her never faded.  The beams of the evening sun slanted through the trees, turning the crystal waters to liquid gold and the trees to burnished copper.  Refsil came running along the cool flagstones, finished with some afternoon roving, and his red fur was fire in the odd light.  As he leapt into her lap, she wondered if the Rivendell's visitors could see the wonder of this place, despite the darkness of the news they brought.  She wondered if Imladris presented the same never-ending awe to other Elves who lived here, and to those who came to it periodically.  She wondered if Legolas could see it from where he sat at Elrond's council.

Suddenly both she and the cub turned sharply, hearing a soft noise along the path, just around a bend and out of sight.  Just as the Lady Arwen stepped into view, a trio of sparrows landed on the bench beside her – including the fellow she had asked to watch the council.  He chirped wildly at his companions, complaining, irritated that they had ordered him away from his post.  Refsil, startled by their bold approach, yipped at them, but that just upset the bird further.  One finally had enough and trilled an order for silence at him, and he subsided.  Wren swiftly explained what had happened and offered her apologies to the little creature, then asked what it had heard in its brief watch.  His information held nothing she had not heard before, and as Arwen approached, she quickly sent the birds on their way, thanking them once more.  She felt even more the fool, now, having been so concerned about her spy – nothing good or bad had come of it.  Though she had to wonder…why was Arwen here?

The Elven lady stopped when she drew near the bench and stared down at Wren.  Refsil, sensing his friend's discomfort, bristled at the intruder, a low growl trickling from his throat.  Arwen's gaze shifted bemusedly to him.  

"You seem to have acquired a champion."  Wren did not reply, could not even look at her.  She merely stroked the fox's soft back, soothing him. 

"Wren," Arwen spoke again.  This time the half-Elf met her eyes.  Their blue depths where shadowed by her raven-dark hair, given firey highlights by the lowering sun.  "Wren," she repeated, "we have avoided each other too long."  Her melodic voice was somber, and Wren was surprised, and a little afraid.  "All alliances and friendships will be vital for the future.  And…" Here she hesitated.  "And I need to talk to you."


	7. Fellowships

*Notes*  We're up and running again everyone!  I've caught the story by its tail and held on long enough to get a general idea of where it's going.  Unfortunately, the part I really want to be writing isn't until much later… but it WILL get there!  Just stick with me.  There may be long breaks between chapters, but the story will be worth it.  (I hope so, anyway!)  Well, needless to say, Wren was severely irritated with me for leaving her hanging for so long, and made writing that last chapter… Well…terrible.  Consequently, I've thought of torturing her by keeping her in Rivendell longer than necessary, but that would drive me nuts, too, and completely defeat her purpose in Middle-Earth…  Anyway…enough preamble!  On with our Tale!

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Part 6 – Fellowships 

            Wren's half-Elven mind chose that moment to act human, refusing to let her comprehend the words Elrond's daughter had just spoken.  "What?"

            For a long moment Arwen said nothing, seeming to ponder of the wisdom of whatever she was deciding.  "May I join you?" she asked at last, motion to the bench.  Wren nodded, but when Arwen moved to sit, Refsil half stood, and this time did not try to hide his growl.  The Lady froze.

            "Refsil!" Wren scolded.  She plucked him from her lap and dropped him to the ground, where he landed with a yip of surprise.  Then she stood.  "Perhaps we should walk," she told the younger Elf, and started along the path away from the House.  Arwen fell in step beside her easily.  A painful twinge of nostalgia surprised Wren as she recalled the days when they had often walked through the gardens thus, years ago, when no anger had lain between them.

            For a time they were silent, as Arwen carefully weighed what needed to be said.  Wren had suffered a great deal from their rift, however; and was stubbornly unwilling to make this easy on her.

            At last the Lady sighed, and spoke.  "I am sorry, Wren.  The grievance between us was of my making, and was unjustly made, also.  I have regretted it often."  There was a flash of white at the corner of Wren's vision as Arwen tugged a strand of raven hair behind her ear.  It was an unconscious, nervous gesture, and had she not been so anxious, Wren would have laughed.  The last time she had seen Arwen do that was just after the Lady had met Aragorn…

            Wren pushed the thought aside and concentrated on the moment at hand.  Though she wanted things to be as they once were, she knew that, in some ways, this was an impossible wish.  Consequently, she was willing to risk straining things further by baring her pain in entirety.  Her pride had never let her do so before, but Arwen had come to her seeking to mend their differences.  The time had come to let the Lady know just how terrible that period after their severance had been. 

            "Regretted it?" she scoffed.  "Indeed.  Regretted it enough to turn a blind eye when most of Rivendell turned against me for "betraying" you.  Regretted it enough to while away days of bliss and nights in the Hall of Fire surrounded by your people while I wandered the gardens alone, lost in a haze of pain and misery."  Her voice had slowly risen through her tirade, and by this point the normally calm and quiet Elf-maid was quite agitated.  She was not shouting, but Arwen was glad they had moved away from the house.  "Regretted it enough, that I came upon Elrohir one evening, weeping as though his entire world had fallen into Darkness, because he, and for a time he alone, kept his faith in me, for which you attacked him, naming him a traitor to his own kin!  Her blue-grey eyes flashed angrily as she remembered that night – a spark of lightning on a stormy field.  "Oh yes, Arwen, you truly regretted it!"

            Arwen swallowed an angry retort as Wren reminded her of the incident with Elrohir.  While Wren stood like small pillar of raging wind and fire, Arwen wiped her misting eyes, set aside her pride, and began to work at winning back this one who had been the closest sister of her heart.

            "Yes," she whispered.  "I did regret it.  Even when I though I hated you, I still lamented what I had lost.  Every time my brothers took me out of the valley to teach me to hunt and fight, I mourned that you were not there as well to make those lessons bearable to one unsuited to them."  The half-Elf snorted, and Arwen realized belatedly that perhaps mentioning her own advantages to their friendship was not the best place to begin.  "When one of my ladies would come from helping you stitch a gown, or repair some tattered embroidery, I would look on her with envy, wishing it had been I who helped you.  How many hours had we spent helping each other thus?"  She stopped and took Wren by the elbow, forcing her estranged sister to look at her.  "So many of your strengths are as one with my weaknesses, Wren, and mine, yours.  We lost a great deal when we lost each other."

            Wren did not reply immediately.  She wanted to say all was forgiven, and take Arwen back into her heart as the close friend she had once been, but if she did so now, the rift would not e truly healed.  Arwen was a noble Lady of high blood, whereas Wren, though her own blood was scarcely less, had not been raised as such.  The Lady was used to relations of a more diplomatic nature, where simple placation was often enough to rebuild ties – this would not be so easily healed.  For nearly a decade Wren had lived in the bitterest exile:  unable to leave this place where they both lived, yet forced by pain and betrayal to flee the company of the one who knew her best.  She found herself, for neither the first, nor the last, time, in the position of Arwen's teacher, showing her that not all life was the easy diplomacy of the recent Elven Lords.

            "Regret does not change truth, Lady," she replied at last, disengaging from Arwen's grasp and moving a short space away.  "I was branded a traitor to, and by, my dearest friend.  Branded so because of curiosity and the hope that someday your father will let me out of this cage."  The shadows in Rivendell's gardens were slowly deepening as the sun set behind the hills.  Soon, an irrelevant part of Wren's mind reminded her, the council would be over, if it was not already, and she would have to waylay Gandalf or Glorfindel…someone…and beg for news…  She pulled her mind back to the subject at hand.  "Most of your people turned against me, attacked my presence here.  When I was finally beginning to learn to cope with these visions, I lost every bulwark I had, save one."  Her frown darkened.  "And your needling comments every time I managed to gain any stability did _not _help!"

            "I was hurt and angry – _please, _Wren–" 

            "So?"  Wren shook her golden head.  "My earliest memories are of my mother telling me about the kind understanding of the Elves.  Even though that was nearly three thousand years ago, I still felt…worse than betrayed when your people turned on me so readily.  It nearly killed me, Arwen!  I almost gave up entirely…"

            "They are your people, Wren."

            This was not what Wren had expected.  "What?"

            "They are your people, as well as mine.  You may have been born to a human mother, Wren, but you were still half of Elven blood."  Arwen regarded her steadily, as if daring her to turn the subject back to her own pain.  "The Peredhil are fortunate – we are given the opportunity to Choose our people.  From the day you decided to live an Elven life, they – _we _– became your people."

            Wren frowned, looking away.  Something brushed at her ankle, and she glanced down, to see Refsil watching her with concern.  He lightly set a paw on her foot, whimpering, drawing from his lady a slight, sad smile.  "I never…"  A lump was forming in her throat, and she swallowed to clear it.  "I have always felt…that I was akin to none.  To my mother only did I feel any real affinity."  Bending, she picked up the distressed fox and cradled him close.  "I was grateful, though, to your father, for allowing me to live here."

            Arwen gently reached out, scratching Refsil behind the ear, and this time, he did not growl.  "Can you forgive my prideful foolishness, my friend?  I do not ask you to take me back into your heart as the sister I was.  I only ask that we may not avoid each other."

            Looking up at her, Wren saw at last that she could not bear to fight this battle any longer.  "Life is hard, Lady," she murmured, feeling her eyes well with tears, "and it is harder with no friend to help bear it.  Elrohir was-"

            "My brother was not the only one to stand by you, Wren," Arwen interrupted.  "Though he could not speak openly against my actions, my father was more sympathetic to you than to me.  He has always loved you as his own," she added, smiling.

            Wren laughed, but there was a trace of bitterness in it.  "Elrond is the only father I know.  Galdenë…I did not know him as more than a legend.  A hero in my mother's eyes."  She turned, and in the growing darkness they started walking again.  "And Celebrían…  She could never replace my own mother, but…"

            "That is part of what I want to speak with you about."

            The two stepped into an open grove, silvering as the moon began to rise.  Arwen sat gracefully on a low tree-branch, and Wren upon the grass.  "About Celebrían?"

            The younger Elven lady's eyes grew distant.  "You will leave, someday, Wren.  It is I who shall be caged."

            Wren had often spoken of her desire to flee the valley, but she could not see why Arwen should be forced to remain now, when she had often left before.  "I don't understand."

            Their roles seemed to have reversed.  "Someday, you will yearn for the Havens and pass out of this world into Valinor.  I will never leave Middle-Earth."  She smiled down at the elder Elf.  "You made your Choice so long ago, little bird.  And I have made mine…  But I cannot help but think, that I will never see my mother again."  Despite the smile, there was a sadness in her voice that cut Wren's heart.

            "Oh, Arwen, we all seem to forget that, don't we?"  Wren leaned against the tree-trunk.  "We know that you have Chosen for the love of Aragorn, but you lose everything in doing so."

            "The gain outweighs the loss, I think."

            "It is hard for me to understand, I guess.  Lacking my own family, I cannot see why you would so willingly part with your own."

            With a bitter laugh Arwen said, "You think I am so eager to leave them?  Father will cross the sea, and Mother will meet him.  But will she meet only he?"  Wren looked up, sharply.  "As you said, my mother could not replace yours in your heart…even so, you shall not be able to replace me in my mother's.  Still, I would that you both would look to each other for what you no longer have."

            "So, you want me to stand as Celebrían's daughter, once I come to Valinor?"

            Arwen nodded.

            "And what of her sons?  Have both of the brothers Chosen?" she asked in dismay. 

            "Elladan is fairly sure what his Choice will be," Arwen replied, shaking her head, "for he is of like mind with our father's brother.  "Star Man" – he was aptly named."

            "And Elrohir?"

            "He is more like our father, yet he does not wish to be parted from his twin.  We know not how he shall Choose."  Thoughtfully, she looked down at Wren.  "Would you have him Choose the Elven life?"

            For a while, the elder Elf made no reply.  The stars were bright overhead when she finally answered:  "I would have him make whatever Choice shall bring him happiness.  Though I would miss him, if he came never to Valinor."  She stood and smiled at the Evenstar, pleased that their differences were at least in part resolved.  "Thank you."  She turned then, and went back toward the House.

*          *            *

            Refsil trotted gaily at Wren's heels as she walked into Elrond's House – she ignored him, permitting him to follow.  The halls of Imladris were empty and silent, and what few clusters of Elves she passed were deep in subdued conversation.  They paid her no mind as she walked by, though a few looked askance at the young fox.  For a while she found no one whom she could question about the council, until she came to a secluded, rarely used wing of the House.  Here, in a quiet study, she happened upon Elrond, sitting with a large tome open before him, deep in thought.  The only light in the room came from two small candles – one on the table illuminating his book, the other on a shelf on the far wall.  For a moment she stood silently, watching him, but Refsil padded over to him and sat beside his foot.  He leaned against the Lord's ankles, whimpering slightly.

            Elrond blinked at the cub in surprise.  "Well now, little one, how did you come to be here?" he asked, lifting the fox up into his lap.  Refsil licked the Elf's chin, and he smiled.

            "My Lord?"  Wren stepped tentatively into the room.  "Have you a moment?"

            He started at her voice, for he had been so deep in his own thoughts that he had not realized she was there.  "Of course, Little Bird."  Smiling, he added, "For you I will always spare a moment."  He motioned to a cushioned seat on the other side of the table at which he sat, and she came in and seated herself.  "I'd wondered where this little fellow had come from."

            "He followed me in.  I'm sorry – I did not think to leave him outside."

            "Well," Elrond considered, rubbing the fox's ears, "I suppose it is alright, this time."  Neither spoke for a long while.  Finally, he closed his book and turned his attention to her.  "So, Ever Child, why have you sought me out, as if I could not guess?"

            Wren shifted uncomfortably.  "Will you tell me how the council turned out, Master Elrond?"  The candle guttered as a breath of air ghosted through the room, and the light flickered across her face.  She looked so young…  "Did everything go as you had hoped?"

            Though he had expected this, the Elven Lord still regarded her steadily, and was careful with the words he chose.  "Some did, yes. Others…"  He sighed.  "Glorfindel told me about your vision, Wren.  Eight companions were chosen to follow the Ring-Bearer into Mordor."

            "Frodo will continue to carry the ring?" she questioned, shuddering at the name of the Dark Land.

            "Yes.  It is a heavy burden for one so small, but Gandalf's faith in him does not waver."

            "And his companions – who will travel with him?"

            "Gandalf will go, of course, and Aragorn; for they are the best guardians he could have, and this quest concerns them closely.  Samwise will go, as well – he refuses to be separated from his master.  The other five are representatives from each of the Free Peoples of Middle-Earth:  Elves, Men, Dwarves, and Hobbits."

            "The Hobbits are Merry and Pippin, of course," Wren said, smiling sadly.  "I cannot see either suffering himself to be left behind.  It is a shame; they are both very young."

            "Yes, but Gandalf seems to think that friendship and loyalty will be worth more than strength in this battle, so they are wise choices."

            "And the others?"

            "The Man is Boromir, son of Denethor of Gondor.  Most of his route home will follow the same path as those going to the Dark Land, so his presence in the fellowship is convenient.  Furthermore, he will have a greater understanding of what they will be fighting against, and can rally his people accordingly."  He leaned his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers thoughtfully.  Refsil had curled into a ball on his lap and ceased to beg for scratching.  "Gimli son of Glóin will represent the Dwarves.  I had hoped to send his father, for he is generous and wise, for a Dwarf.  However, Gimli has the youthful stamina Glóin now lacks.  I only hope he has also learned some of his father's wisdom."  Elrond paused.

            "That is seven.  Who is the Elf?"

            "The Elven representative will be Legolas Greenleaf of Mirkwood."

            Wren stared at him in shock.  "Legolas?!  But…why?"

            "Gandalf and I have had high hopes for him for many centuries," Elrond replied with a frown, misreading her reaction.  "He is still young among our people, but has tasted war before.  I could have chosen one older and more powerful, like Glorfindel – though he has seen too much war and would not go even if asked, I think – or more well known and respected, like my sons…"

            "Their part will come later," Wren interjected vaguely.

            He stared at her.  "Yes…  But Legolas is not so ill a choice.  As I said, in this company, power will not play a key role.  His skill with the bow surpasses even my sons', true, but he is also more open-minded than most, despite being Thranduil's son.  As a Dwarf is traveling with them, that will be essential."

            "I do not think he is a bad choice, my Lord, I am merely…surprised."  She shook her head, trying to clear a space to think.  "He came here only to deliver a message and seek aid – surely he did not expect to be sent to…to Mordor of all places!"

            "None who came here expected this, save perhaps Aragorn and Gandalf," he said, rubbing his forehead with a sigh.  "Yet it must be done.  I wish I could say otherwise."

            Wren did not reply.  She knew not how to explain her unwillingness to see Legolas travel with the company – not without sounding like a silly child – so she held her tongue on the matter.  "When will they depart?"

            Elrond sensed what was coming and watched her warily.  "Before the turn of the year, they will start south."

            "They will have to fight winter."

            "It is unfortunate, but yes."

            Unable to be still any longer, Wren stood and began to pace around the room, gazing a the contents of the shelves as she tried to contain her anxiety – books, wrought figures, glass phials, and other small treasures.  An ornate circlet forged of mithril caught her eye, and she picked it up, turning it in restless hands.  "There is one more thing I must ask of you, my Lord."

            "You know how I will answer, Little Bird."  His voice was weary.

            "Still, I must ask."

            "Ask then."

            She drew a deep breath.  "Let me go with the fellowship, if only as far as Lothlórien and Caras Galadhon." 

            "I cannot let you do that," Elrond said patiently, as if speaking to a little child.  "You would not be safe outside of Rivendell."

            "Don't patronize me!" she snapped.  A little wildly, she gestured in the direction of the rest of the house.  "Nor will they!  No one is entirely safe outside of the Elven kingdoms in these times."  She realized she was clutching the circlet rather desperately, and slowly uncurled her fingers, one by one, and set it back on the shelf.

            "None of the others are fighting visions.  I have seen you in the wake of your Sight – you are as helpless as a hatchling!  Nor are any of them torn within their own minds."

            "If I stay here, their quest will fail."  Her voice was blunt, and she stared at her foster father, daring him to challenge what she knew.

            Yet challenge her he did.  "That is very presumptuous, Wren."

            "Perhaps, but have you ever been given a reason to doubt what I know?"  Pacing across the room, she leaned on the back of her chair.  "You have Seen how it will end if they fail, Elrond.  So have I."

            The Elf was taken aback.  "Why did you say nothing of this before?"

            She came around the chair and sat down again, breathing a deep sigh.  "A few months ago, I began to realize how much of what I have Seen my mind was unconsciously repressing, and I started trying to unlock my memory.  It is not pretty."

            "No."  He shuddered, and Refsil, who had lain quietly until then, sat up and whined, questioning.  "Peace, little brother."  Gently, he set the cub back down on the floor.  "What will happen to your visions if you go with them?  We never See our own futures clearly, but traveling together, that which affects them will affect you.  You would not See it."

            "I have already Seen enough to know that without help, they will fail."

            "But do you know when to provide that help?  If you stay here, away from them, you will still be able to See their fate, and help can be sent."  He wanted to weep for her.  He knew what it was like to foresee such pain and suffering, and still be completely helpless to prevent it.

            Frustrated, Wren shook her head.  "There would not be time!  I would already be there – do you think I would not recognize in reality what I have Seen?"

            " I know you would," he answered, rising.

            "Then why –"

            Elrond moved to stand behind her chair and gently rested a hand on her shoulder.  "You have grown to understand a great deal about your gift, Child, but you have yet to face the hardest lesson it can teach."

            "How can it be any worse?" Wren moaned, looking up at him.  Refsil sensed her distress and leaped up into her lap.  She pulled him close, petting him fiercely.

            "We cannot always change what we See, my dear, but perhaps the most puzzling aspect of such gifts, is that what you See will not always happen as you See it."  He came around and crouched beside the chair, looking up at her.  "What you See today may be affected by the events of tomorrow and may never occur at all, or not how you expect.  Sometimes, the harder we try to change what we See, the more likely things are to turn out badly."

            "How was I to learn this?" she asked, resentful.  "I have never had the opportunity to try to change things.  You never _let me leave this valley!_"  Wren did not want to be angry with him – she truly didn't – but it was so _frustrating…_

            The Elven lord stood and walked over to a tall window.  "Soon we will all leave Imladris," he said, staring up at the darkened sky.  When she heard the regret in his voice, all anger drained out of her.  Looking back at her, he added, "When this is over…"

            "The Havens.  But…I cannot leave Middle-Earth without _seeing_ it, Elrond."

            For a long while he said nothing, and the candles, by now, were burning low.  "You truly have no desire to pass West, to see the Undying Lands?"

            "I think…"  She considered her answer carefully.  "Eventually I will want to go, and Arwen…"  She swallowed, sorry she had mentioned his daughter, who would never see Valinor.  "She wants me to…to seek out Celebrían, and…  Oh!  Elrond, you and she are the only parents I have had for so long!"  A single tear slid down a silken cheek, and she dashed it away.

            Turning back to the room, Elrond remembered the circlet Wren had picked up earlier.  He gently took it into his hands, and came back toward the table.  "When Galdenë told me he was going to bring you here, I was glad.  With no children of our own as yet, it seemed an opportunity for Celebrían and I to learn…but then he went back for Lyrah, and they were ambushed…"  He set the mithril circlet gently on her head.  "And suddenly, it was no longer a time to learn.  Though not ours by birth, we had a daughter.  As you had been raised among Men, we were at a bit of a loss what to do with you, at first."  He smiled wryly.  "Erestor proved to be more than a counselor, in those days.  You would get so frustrated with him!  But without him…we would have been lost, raising a child who did not understand Elves."

            Wren raised a hand to the circlet, bewildered.  "He could be so dull, sometimes, in his teaching, but…  I feared him, I suppose – and not him alone!  Oh, no!  Never have I met a people more innocently curious than the Elves, and I did not understand why they should find me so fascinating.  It was terrifying – I was only seventeen, thrown into the midst of those for whom two thousand is considered young."  Again she touched the metal on her brow.  "Wha-"

            Elrond stopped her question with a gentle kiss on her forehead.  "I have wondered often what you are to me, Child, for while you are not mine, yet often have I seen you as a daughter.  Better, perhaps, to call you a beloved niece.  Though, sometimes, you are more of a little sister to my heart!"  He gently took her shoulders in his hands, holding her eyes with his own.  "Even as Galdenë's daughter, you are still distantly of my blood, and the blood of Númenor is in you, also.  You are a Lady of this House, Wren.  As you are no longer hiding from Elves or Men, it is time and past they recognized you as such."

            Entirely taken aback, Wren could not think of what to say.  "Th-thank you," she managed at last.  "But, I still-"

            "When this is over, if Aragorn lives, Arwen will travel to Gondor.  You will be in the company that goes with her, if you wish.  You will see some of Middle-Earth before the ships depart for Valinor."

            "I cannot repay you, my Lord," she demurred, bowing her head.

            The Elven lord smiled.  "You already have, Little Bird.  Many times over.  Now, I must go, and find some rest.  These past days…"  He shook his head.  "I trust you will heed what I said before, about your visions."  Wren set the fox cub back on the floor and stood as he started towards the door.  "I know it is hard for you, but…"

"Go and rest, Master Elrond," she replied.  "Do not trouble yourself about me."

He nodded, and quit the study, heading for the sanctuary of his own rooms.  Wren remained motionless until she could no longer hear his footprints, then reached up and removed the mithril circlet from her head.  Refsil watched her curiously.  "Forgive me, my Lord, but I cannot yet accept this gift in full.  Someday I will stand as a Lady among the Elves – but not within the walls of this valley.  Not until I have done what I must do."  She sighed.  "Maybe I cannot help the fellowship if I travel with them, but I can still do _something_.  It was never my wish to defy you.  Alas!  For now I have no choice…"  Wren took the circlet with her when she at last sought out her rooms, knowing full well that she would have to accept it, for now, so as not to arouse the suspicion that she had not yet abandoned all hope.


	8. A Long Interim

*notes:  AI!!!  I wrote and posted that last chapter, and now am incredibly frustrated.  I got ahead of myself.  I was sooo eager to write a scene between Wren and Elrond, that I completely forgot that the entire Company wasn't chosen until TWO MONTHS after the council!!!  *weeps*  Well.  I was also mistaken about when Boromir arrived in Rivendell.  The only excuse I can give is that I am apparently blending the events of the movie into those of the book, in which case, the Fellowship WAS all chosen then… though in the movie they volunteered, I am keeping to the book's plot on that note and saying Elrond chose them.  ANYWAY!  From here on out I'm going to try to move a little faster.  Tolkien didn't say much about the next two months, therefore, nor shall I.  Also, I want to THANK everyone for all the wonderful reviews!  That is a little late in coming, and I apologize – perhaps from now on I shall try to thank you each individually.  As always, constructive criticism is welcome, and any flames "will be used to toast marshmallows."  ^_^

Part 7:  A Long Interim 

            As the late October sun edged close to the eastern horizon, heralding the new dawn with a pale, cold light, Refsil realized that he _needed_ to go outside.  Now.  He had followed Wren to her rooms and had slept there, but that is a long time for a young fox to stay indoors.  With a frantic yipping, he leapt up onto Wren's bed and pounced on her, waking her from her dream-trance.

            Her mind so filled with thoughts spawned from her talk with Elrond that ordinary sleep eluded her; Wren had spent the night wandering the paths of dreams, hoping to find some answer to her concerns.  Such answers were few and vague, and only reinforced what she had already told the Elven lord:  she must leave Rivendell.  Though, she realized, none of her visions ever indicated that she should go _with _the Fellowship…  That had been an assumption entirely of her own making.

When Refsil woke her, it was a few moments before she could make any sense of what he wanted.  As soon as she understood his desperation, she shooed him off the bed, and quickly began to dress.  Not expecting much activity or labor ahead of her that day, she chose a flowing gown of the palest green, a shade, she had been told, very popular among the ladies of the Silvan Elves.  Halfway into the garment, a slight sound reached her ears, and a pungent odor caught her nose a short moment later.  Turning, she saw the poor fox cub, looking quite dejected, standing in a puddle.

"Oh, Refsil," she cried, trying not to laugh.  "You poor dear.  Don't move!" she added hastily as he made as if to step towards her.  Quickly, she laid her gown on the bed, and slipped into something more suitable for work – tunic and trews of green and dark grey – and pulled her hair into a tight knot at the nape of her neck.  She then picked up the fox, setting him down a good distance from the puddle, again warned him to stay still, and left the room.  Bewildered, he whined after her, but she was not gone long.  A minute later the half-Elf returned with several rags and a basin of water.  

First she rinsed the little cub's paws, then carefully endeavored to clean up the mess on her floor.  "You are lucky," she told him, "that I like the feel of cool stone on my feet.  Most bedrooms have rugs on the floors!  We would truly have a problem, then!"

Refsil made it very clear to her that he was incredibly sorry, licking her face and rolling on his back even as she tried to clean.  She had to rinse his paws several times.  Once he nearly rolled into the puddle, and she had to scoop him up and toss him to one side before he got urine in his fur.  Wren was paying so much attention to what she was doing that she did not even hear the footsteps approaching her room.

"By Elbereth, Wren, what on earth are you doing?"

Startled, she drew a sharp breath and went very still for a moment.  "Elrohir," she breathed, relaxing, "good morning to you, also."  She did not turn to face him, and continued scrubbing the floor.

Elrohir came into the room, moving around her to sit on the edge of the bed.  "Good morning.  Forgive me, I did not mean to startle you."  His brow furrowed.  "But what _are_ you doing?"

Wren pointed the rag at Refsil, who began to try to make himself invisible.  "We had a bit of an accident."

That seemed to amuse him, though not as much as it might have.  There was still a darkness in his eyes as he answered.  "Oh!  What did you do, feed him a pond?"  She glared at him.  "I am sorry.  You should have asked someone to help, or clean it for you.  Now that you have asserted your status here, no one would gainsay your right to do so."

"The day I am too arrogant to clean my own floor is the day I curl up in a hole, dead to the world."  Smiling, she sat up.  "Besides, I have finished."  Her smile faded as she finally took a good look at his expression.  His usually bright Elven eyes were dull and empty, and his movements were restrained, almost as if they pained him.  "Elrohir?"

He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair.  "I'm sorry.  I did not mean to sound…  I should not have been sharp with you."  A weary smile touched his features.  "You value what independence you can get, I know."

Dropping the rag into the basin, Wren stood and moved towards him, concerned.  She stopped a step away, and started to reach out to him, but she remembered that her hands were dirty and drew back.  "Elrohir – Brother – what is wrong?"  

With a deep sigh he flopped back, lying on her bed.  Wren recalled how un-Elvish he seemed sometimes, particularly when distressed.  She also noticed that, though the four of them – Elrohir, Elladan, Arwen, and Wren – had often visited each other's rooms to talk, or conspire small tricks against the other Elves of Imladris – Elrond in particular – this was the first time she found Elrohir's presence in her room disconcerting.  It was as if her calling him 'Brother' reminded her that, in truth, they were only very distant kin.  

He was unaware of her discomfort.  "I was hoping to have the time to take you out to train a bit more, before winter sets in, but there will not be time."

She sat on the side of the bed, looking down at him.  "That's all right, Elrohir."

"No, it is not."  He glared at her.  "I am tired, Wren – tired of the fighting, tired of hunting these shadows, tired of watching my people fade while Men grow strong…"

"But that is how it must be.  Each race has, for a time, superiority, then fades into the background while another takes control.  Elves will still guide those Men as will listen, even as the Ainur guided the Elves in ages past."

"That was their joy, to watch the Children of Eru grow and thrive."

Wren nodded.  "Can it not be an Elven joy, to watch Men come into their own?"

Elrohir stared up at her in wonder.  "How do you do that?"

"Do what, exactly?"

"You make me feel so very young sometimes, but there is not so much of a difference in our ages.  At times you are like a child whom I feel I should protect, and at others…"  He shook his head.  "Other times your…understanding can be very intimidating."

"I do not do it on purpose."

"I know."  

The silence stretched between them, oddly uncomfortable.  Finally, Wren stood, took the pail of dirty water out of the room, and washed her hands.  When she returned, she found that Elrohir had sat up again and had Refsil in his lap.  The fox looked quite content with the attention he was getting.  

"So, you say there will be not time – what is happening?"

He looked up at her.  "Father is sending us off again.  He refuses to send the Ring out of Rivendell until he knows what has happened to the Ringwraiths."

Wren sat heavily in a chair near the door.  "Oh, Elrohir!"  For a few moments she said nothing more.  "I do not know whether to be relieved for the company or distressed for you and your brother.  You just got back, and now he sends you away again?  He is not even giving you time to rest!"

"There will be no rest for any until the Ring is destroyed, I fear.  Aragorn is going as well, though along a different road."  

She stared at him in shock.  "Oh!  Poor Arwen…  But what of the other visitors?  Surely Lord Elrond will not send them all away."

Shaking his head, he said, "No.  Father does not have authority over all of them, and there are some he would not dare send.  The Road is too dangerous for the Hobbits, now, unless they are guarded – and what is the point in that?  Why not just send those who would guard?  He will not ask anything of the Dwarves, but will offer his hospitality while they remain here.  Nor can he give orders to the Man of Gondor."

"That leave the Elves of Mirkwood," she offered, hesitantly, when he had finished.

"Yes.  There is a problem with the Sylvan Elves."  Wren just looked at him, waiting for him to continue.  Elrohir sighed.  "Father wants to send some of them back, to tell Lord Thranduil of the council's proceedings.  Specifically, that his son will go south with the ring."

"Understandable."

"Ah, but neither of Legolas's guards will leave him here, and he refuses to go with them, saying that they would have to stay behind when the Ring goes anyway.  Truth, I think he fears his father's reaction."  

"I think," Wren said, softly, "that I would not like Thranduil much."

At that Elrohir laughed.  "I think you would be surprised.  He and his son are far too much alike for their own good, save that Thranduil is, perhaps, a bit stuffy and has none of Legolas's wanderlust.  The king took his wife's death very hard, and has not been the same since.  I only met her once – she and my mother got along well.  I am almost surprised Mother did not insist on your meeting her as well.  You would have liked her."

He set Refsil down on the floor and stood.  "Well, we are leaving tomorrow, and I must prepare for the journey – again."  Wren also stood as he neared the door, and he gently touched her shoulder.  "I just wanted to tell you we were leaving."

She nodded, silent, then hugged him.  "Be safe, Elrohir.  Tell your brother.  Both of you, please be safe."  

Elrohir returned her embrace.  "We will.  Don't worry."  And with that, he left.  She would see neither him nor his brother until their return nearly two months later.

*          *            *

For the most part, Wren spent the following weeks alone in the peaceful silence of the gardens of Imladris.  Sometimes she would happen upon one or more of the Halflings as she walked, and would stay a moment to speak with them.  She found she liked talking to Frodo very much, for he was wise, in his way, and kind and understanding.  But they were all very refreshing to talk to.  She harried Gandalf for information until he forbade her intense questioning and avoided her.  It took some time before she was able to seek him out to apologize, and after that he would speak to her again, and even tell her of the goings-on, as long as she did not ask him to.  She also spoke to Legolas several times, for in the end his fellows went to Mirkwood without him.  Mostly she avoided him until Aragorn returned at the beginning of December, then, when the latter was not with Arwen or taking counsel with Elrond, the three of them could most often be found in each other's company, telling tales or, in Wren's case, avidly listening.  She did not try to rekindle her friendship with Arwen, though they no longer avoided each other.  Nor did Wren seek Elrond out again – she dared not, lest he somehow guess that she still intended to leave the Valley.  Rather, she wore the circlet he had given her, maintaining the ruse that thoughts of departure were far from her mind.  Sometimes she wandered to the stables and conversed with the horses, and Glorfindel would occasionally find her there.  He was perhaps the greatest comfort to talk to, as he was always willing to listen or tell her what was happening, and he did not mind her questions

Wherever she went, there Refsil also could be found, and he was growing rapidly.  By mid-December he was seven months old, and nearly as tall as a grown fox, but had more energy and less caution.  Huwar and Sheerkah were also with her often, as well as Kendri, a full-grown panther who had migrated far from her usual home in the South, fleeing the oncoming war.  She had been gored by a boar shortly before Wren found her at the beginning of November, and was now nearly healed.  Wren had heard nothing of the stag Nesil in ages, and began to assume he had left the area.  Sheerkah finally brought word of him, for she had seen him a good distance East of Rivendell, near the Misty Mountains.  This was both a relief and distressing, for the Orcs of that region were getting bolder.

For almost two months, little happened, and life tried its best to proceed normally.  But 'normal' for Wren consisted of total avoidance of most people, Elven or no.  Since she had finally stepped into her role as a Lady of Imladris, however, her usual self-enforced solitude was no longer an option.  

She also set all of the birds within several days' ride of the Valley to watch for Elladan and Elrohir's return.  Despite the latter's assurance before he left, she was still very concerned.  She also knew, every time she saw Arwen, that she and the Lady still shared that much at least.

*          *            *

December was half over, and still no snow had fallen.  Though this seemed a blessing – perhaps the company would not have to travel in deep snow – some, Gandalf in particular, could not help but wonder if the blessing now meant greater trouble along the road.  Wren could not dispel a similar feeling, but had no visions to that fact and did not let it weigh on her heart.

She sat with Aragorn, Legolas, and Glorfindel near the hearth in the Hall of Fire.  They had not spoken for some time, simply taking enjoyment from each other's company.  They had not spoken of it, but knew that soon, two of them would be torn away, perhaps never to return.  Only Glorfindel knew that he would likely be the only one of the four to remain in the Valley, for Asfaloth had finally broken down and warned him of Wren's plans, hoping he would help her.  So, he kept glancing up at her, for he could do nothing if she did not ask…

Tired of the silence, he spoke at last, continuing an earlier thread of conversation.  "So you were not actually at the Battle of the Five Armies, Legolas?"

Legolas had been lost in thought, and started when the elder Elf spoke.  "Hmm?  Oh – no, I was not."

Aragorn smirked – he seemed familiar with this story.  "Then why," Glorfindel continued, "does everyone seem to believe you were?"

"My father thought it would be best to encourage that assumption," he replied, lacing his long fingers behind his head and leaning back against the wall, stretching his legs out on the floor before him.  "I was supposed to go, in truth."

"Why did you not?" Wren asked.

Legolas's bright eyes shifted to her, and he smiled slightly.  "I do not know that I should answer that.  It was rather humiliating."

"Oho!" laughed Aragorn in mock surprise – he had definitely heard this tale before.  "Then by all means, you must tell, my friend!"

With a weary chuckle, the Elf conceded.  "Alas!  To discuss such folly in front of a Lady," he mourned, jokingly.  "I fear I had managed to get myself thrown from a horse, and was nursing a broken leg when my father's army left for the Lonely Mountain."

"Forgive me, Legolas, if I love to be reminded that not all Elves are flawless at everything they try."

"Few of us are, my friend," Glorfindel reminded the Ranger.  "However," he frowned at Legolas, "I must ask – how did you manage such a blunder?"

"It was ridiculously simple.  I was riding over unstable terrain and got distracted.  My mount slipped, and when he fell, so, too, did I."  He shrugged, nonchalant, but obviously a little embarrassed.  "I was pinned partially underneath him.  The injury could have been force-healed, I suppose, but that leg would still have been weaker – a liability in battle.  It was safer simply to remain in Mirkwood.  And also," he added gently, "I did not wish to go."

Up to this point, Wren had been studying Glorfindel's hair – though about half of it fell straight and unworked to the small of his back, the rest had been pulled up at the crown of his head to fall in three slender braids.  However, these were not simple braids, but were full of so many elaborate twists and decorative knots that she could not work out how he had done it.  But upon hearing Legolas's last confession, she wrenched her attention back to the conversation.  He hadn't wished to go?  _To battle?  Or to leave Mirkwood?_  she wondered, unable to comprehend that someone would not want to go…somewhere, despite what he'd have met there.

Aragorn and Glorfindel exchanged glances, then looked at Wren, one wary, one concerned.

"Why?" she asked, her voice subdued with something akin to pain.

Legolas looked at her and was startled by what he saw.  The usually cheerful Elf-maid looked…lost.  Her face was drawn, and the light in her eyes was dimmed.  He did not understand what had happened to cause this sudden shift in her.  "Why did…?  Bewildered, he paused, but she never met his eyes, leaving him to continue blindly.  "It was…  I did not wish to leave my home to fight a pointless battle."

She finally looked at him.  "You did not wish to fight?  Or did not wish to leave Mirkwood?"

Understanding dawned in his eyes as he remembered her fervent desire to flee the bonds of Rivendell.  He smiled slightly.  "My father followed the Dwarves out of pride and no small amount of greed.  The Dwarves had escaped us, it seemed, by some strange magic – an fairly accurate assessment.  He felt that it was Dwarven greed that led them into our kingdom, and would not accept that their quest had nothing to do with us."  Here he stopped a moment, thoughtful.  "And perhaps it was greed that would not let them tell us of their journey.  But greed begets greed, and their silence spawned in my father's mind imaginings of riches beyond even Elven knowledge.  We had no claim to whatever they sought, and no right to fight them for it."

Glorfindel smiled.  "But it was a good thing your father decided to do so.  Else the goblins would have overrun the Dwarves and the Men of Dale."

"True," Legolas nodded.  "I know it turned out well.  But I do not have the Gift of Foreseeing, and could not know that."  

Wren drew a sharp breath and looked away, wilting a little.  She had never told him about her Gift, and hearing him speak of it tore her heart.  Saying nothing felt like deception.

"I did not want to risk my life for what I felt was foolishness," he finished, oblivious to her dismay.  

"A surprisingly wise decision on your part, my friend!" Aragorn jested, hoping to distract Legolas long enough for Wren to regain her composure.

It did not take long.  She cast a grateful smile at the Ranger as she drew herself up again.  Such a strange dance this was!  Though she desperately wanted to be accepted for who she was, much her time in the Elven prince's company was spent trying to prevent him from learning of her visions.  Aragorn, or Glorfindel, or Gandalf, or whoever was present at the time, would try to divert him long enough for her gain control of herself, and things would continue as if nothing had occurred. 

There was an added distraction this time, for suddenly a flurry of activity erupted just outside the Hall.  Several muffled exclamations, followed by an owl's exasperated shriek brought Wren swiftly to her feet, and she hurried to the door.

"There you are!" an elder Elf exclaimed as she came into view.  "Wren, your friends seem to have news for you and refuse to calm down until they give it.  Could you please…?" he trailed off, motioning to Huwar, who was swooping dangerously about the room.  Two sparrows trailed her, chirping madly at anyone they saw.

As soon as the little birds caught sight of Wren, they darted towards her, declaring joyously that Elladan and Elrohir were less than a week's ride from Imladris.  Her failing spirits lifted at once at this news, which she quickly related to the others present.  A clamor of relief and rejoicing rose up around her, but quickly faded as the Elves recalled that the brothers' return meant that soon the Fellowship would depart the valley.  Having delivered their message, the sparrows finally relaxed and flew from the House.

As they departed, Wren turned to Huwar, who came and lighted on the back a nearby chair.  As the owl crooned a soft greeting, Wren heard the footsteps of Legolas, Glorfindel, and finally Aragorn as they entered the room.

_They must have followed me when they heard the commotion,_ she thought, reaching out to stroke Huwar's soft feathers.  The owl nibbled on her fingers and spoke at last.

"Lady, I am sorry – the news I bring is not pleasant.  Ill it is, indeed, that I must give it now, after word of the brothers' return has been brought."  She stopped and, uttering a plaintive, almost helpless hoot, hung her head.

Wren smiled encouragement and scratched the owl's neck feathers, then hooked a finger under her beak and forced the bird to meet her eyes.  "It is alright, my friend.  Better I know now, when it is balanced by good news."

"I know not what is better for an Elf."  After a thoughtful silence, the owl visibly steeled herself and went on.  "Lady, the stag, Nesil – he is dead."

The word's rang in the half-Elf's mind like a hammer-blow and left her reeling.  She felt the blood drain from her face and for a long moment could not manage to form a coherent thought.  Distantly she heard the others questioning if she was all right, but she could not answer.  "Wha-  How?" she finally asked the owl.

"It was Orcs, Lady.  I was flying near the Misty Mountains – on the far side, towards Mirkwood – when I caught sight of a band of Orcs.  It was a hunting-party, already heavily laden, and I followed, wanting to make sure of their direction before departing.  They saw something I could not see – it was hidden in a stand of trees – and attacked.  When I realized it was Nesil they were chasing, it was already to late – I could do nothing."  Huwar clacked her beak in frustration.  "They left him!  They killed him and left his body!  And I could not even call together the raptors or ravens to take the fresh meat so his death not be wasted – the Orcs poisoned the carcass…"

Wren placed a hand on the owl's head to silence her.  "Thank you for bringing me word, my friend," she said, bravely.  "I will…  We must remember him, for if these dark days are not stopped, he will not be the last to meet such a fate."

"But it is not the same," Huwar mourned, "for he was _ours, _Lady.  He walked these valleys with us – we knew him…  He was one of _us_."

_No, _the Elf thought, _it is not the same.  Losing a friend and losing a stranger to the same death are not the same at all…_  Fighting tears, she reassured the owl, thanked her again, and sent her on her way.  As Huwar winged away from the Last Homely House, Wren slowly came back to herself, and realized that the others were still watching her anxiously.

"Wren?" Glorfindel prompted gently.

She fought to pull herself together and answer calmly.  "It is of little consequence to any but myself."

The Noldor rested a hand gently on her shoulder.  "Wren, child, what has happened?"

Almost defiantly she met his eyes.  "You remember Nesil, I imagine, My Lord."

He frowned.  "The fawn you raised?  Yes…"

"He was killed by Orcs on the other side of the Misty Mountains."  Her voice thickened with unshed tears.  "They did not even take the meat – they left him! – instead they poisoned his body, so even other beasts cannot make use of it…"  A strangled, shuddering sob choked off her tirade.

"Bright Lady, child…" Glorfindel whispered, but he knew not what to say to even begin to comfort her.  The beasts had been her closest companions for some years, and to loose such a close friend – particularly one who was there when most others deserted her – would be a terrible blow indeed.

"It is not _right!_" Wren exploded in fury, jerking away from him.  "He was nothing to this battle!  Why must they destroy everything we try to heal?"  Tears began to stream down her face.  "Everything we do they counter!  Even what little I have done is nothing.  Nothing!  They destroy everything…"  For a moment it looked as if she might crumble where she stood, but someone moved towards her – perhaps to give comfort – and she stiffened.  "But how could anyone understand – he was only a stag, after all."  With that she turned and fled the House.

Much to even his own surprise, Legolas started after her, but Aragorn caught his arm.

"Let her be, my friend, she has not even had time for his death to really sink in yet."  His face was drawn with concern.

The Sylvan Elf gently disengaged from the man's grip.  "I cannot do that. This is not the loss of an animal companion, but of a dear friend and loved one.  I… I fear for her if she cannot unburden some of her pain…"  He ignored the bewildered stares of the other Elves of Imladris and turned to Glorfindel.  "Her mind is not strong-"

"You might be surprised," the Noldor commented, arching one graceful golden eyebrow.

"Not stable, then.  Please," he begged, "let me try to help her."

Glorfindel searched the Wood Elf's face for a moment, then stepped aside.  "She spoke to you when you were still unknown to her – the only stranger to whom she revealed anything of her hopes and dreams.  If you truly believe you can help her, my friend, we have no right to gainsay your wish to try."

Legolas nodded and left to find the grieving half-Elf.

Gradually the other Elves started to withdraw, and when they were nearly alone, Aragorn turned to Glorfindel.  "Is that wise, my friend?  I know you have often helped her in the past."

The Elf Lord smiled sadly.  "Indeed.  But there are times, Aragorn, when the young must help each other.  You, for all that your years number far less than theirs, are no longer young.  They still are, however, and it may be that he carries a better perspective on how to reach her childlike mind than you or I."  He sighed.  "Would that she did not have to be touched by the coming darkness…"

"One could say the same for all of Middle-Earth," Aragorn replied.  "But she was struck with it long ago.  Her visions have plagued her for centuries."

"True."  He looked in the direction the younger Elves had gone.  "But I fear it shall grow far worse for her, ere the end."

*          *            *

For several hours, Legolas could find no sign of where the half-Elven girl had gone – her skill at moving without leaving any sign of her passing was great indeed.  He came upon her, at last, by sheerest luck.  Following a set of paw-prints (though he knew not if they belonged to one of her creatures) finally led him to a secluded glen, large enough for only a small gathering, where Wren lay curled on her side, partially hidden by both a dense shrub of hard, deep green leaves, and a large, dark feline.  Uncertainty momentarily froze the Elf in his tracks.  Though he had spent some time in her company, this lady was still strange to him – who was he to presume he could quiet her grief?

A soft touch on his foot startled him out of his doubts.  Looking down, he saw the young fox standing near, looking up at him.  The creature put out a paw and touched his soft shoe again, then turned and started towards Wren.  A few steps away, he stopped and looked back at Legolas, waiting for the Elf to follow.

_Ai, Estë, Healer of all hurts, give me the words, the understanding, to help this lost child of Ilúvatar find solace from her grief, and strength and wisdom in it._  His silent prayer raised, he followed the fox and dropped to one knee beside the weeping half-Elf.

Wren uncurled enough to look up at him, her eyes glassy and vacant, her beautiful face smudged and streaked with tears.  For a moment it seemed she did not see him, except to register that someone knelt before her – there was no recognition in her eyes.  Then, slowly, a frown creased her face.  "Legolas?"

"May I sit with you a while?" he answered.  Without waiting for an answer, he arranged himself beside her, leaning against the strangely sturdy branches of the shrub.

Gingerly, as if grief had made her stiff and sore, she sat up, and the panther Kendri shifted to one side to give her room.  Refsil sat, carefully watching the two Elves, full of concern for his two-legged friend, and above them Sheerkah looked down from a tree branch, crooning sympathies.

Thoughts were slow forming in Wren's mind.  "Why are you here?" she asked at last.

For several long moments Legolas remained silent.  "I have told you that Mirkwood is become a perilous place," he said at last.  "I, too, have lost comrades, friends, companions since childhood, in the unending battle to keep the darkness away from our strongholds.  I also have known grief."  Tentatively he looked at her, met her eyes.  "Sometimes…pain is easier to overcome if it is not borne alone."

Wren remembered long years of crying herself to sleep after her parents died, refusing to share her emotions with the Elves around her, retreating further and further into herself.  She recalled days and nights spent wandering the gardens of Imladris after Celebrían crossed the sea, leaving Middle-Earth forever.  Months of benumbed loneliness with almost none to turn to after Arwen's rejection also came to her.  Fresh tears slid down her cheeks, and she coughed, trying not to sob, not wanting to appear weak before this Sylvan warrior-prince.

But he sensed her reluctance, and held out his hand to her, inviting her to unburden herself to him.  Unable to resist such sincerity, Wren slowly let her tears flow, and leaned against him, her knees drawn up to her breast.  In this way, she drifted into sleep, with Legolas gently stroking her hair, murmuring soft comfort, and her beasts curled about her – the first true healing rest of her entire Elvish existence.

Long years would pass before they would ever speak of it.


	9. Visitations and Visions

Notes:  Okay, that last chapter went NOWHERE NEAR where I intended.  However, seeing as it had been so long since I last posted, I figured I'd better take what I could get, and not worry too much.  It worked, sort of, and since it's only real purpose was to move the story forward in time to this point, it was at least marginally successful.  The real problem with it lies in the fact that I wrote it in pieces – a line here, a paragraph there, not really working with a cohesive whole.  That's what happens when I don't update in months.  Argh.  Anyway.  This next chapter finally starts to move the story again, and will hopefully see more development in the relationships between characters.  With any luck, it will at least flow a little more smoothly.  We'll see.  This may actually prove to be a very short chapter, compared to the others.  Then again…perhaps not.  No, actually, now that I think about it… it may be very, very long….

Part 8 – Visitations and Visions 

            The few days before the return of Elladan and Elrohir passed far too slowly for Wren's liking.  Though her grief for the stag Nesil was not gone, it had abated to a bearable level, and she was impatient to hear any news that might have bearing on her decision to flee the valley.  When they returned at last, however, none could pry any word out of them – they would only tell of their journey to their lord father.

            "Decidedly unkind of you," Wren admonished Elrohir three days after his return, as they wandered through some of the less-used paths traversing the valley.  He refused even to describe the lands he visited, leaving her feeling rather cheated.  Not only had she been bereft of his company for weeks, but she could not even gain any useful information in exchange!

            "Perhaps," he replied, "but silence and secrecy are also highly necessary in these times.  The less that is spoken, the less the Dark Lord can guess, the greater our advantage, Little Bird."  Despite the solemnity of his words, his tone was kind, and a smile lit his fair features.  He pulled aside a tangled curtain of vines – turning brown with the coming winter – that nearly blocked the path entirely, and his expression dimmed.  "Ah…I remember when all of these trails were clear and well-kept – now so much time is devoted to planning for war that none can be spared for such things."

            Wren ducked under his arm, passing through ahead of him.  "So it goes.  How long has it been since you have been able to spend time creating, rather than hunting?"  She glanced up at the tall Peredhel as he fell in step beside her once more.  "I have seen no new instruments in the House for many years, and few woodcarvings."

            "And few of those mine," Elrohir mourned.  "Too much time has been spent creating tools of war.  Even you have spent more time with leatherwork than embroidery over the past decades."

            "As if my embroidery was ever really art," she scoffed, making a face.  Their path opened onto one that had seen far more use of late and followed it back towards the House.  "It could be considered a tool of war.  Show it to our enemies and they shall all run screaming in terror!" 

            Elrohir laughed.  "But not all of it, true?  Arwen has said that the cloak you are weaving is quite lovely indeed."  Wren did not reply, but blushed slightly.  "How does it fare?"

            "It is almost finished.  Another day, perhaps two, of sewing that I need not pick out and redo, and it shall be done."

            "Well, perhaps I should let you complete it before dragging you out to practice further skills of battle.  We shall have some time, now, to work on such things."  He sighed, at peace for the moment.  "Perhaps even until the war is over.  Then, if the Fellowship succeeds, and all we hope for becomes truth, perhaps father will relent and permit Arwen to marry Aragron as her heart so wishes.  Then we will all travel to Gondor, and you will have your wish to leave Imladris at last."

            Had he looked at her, he might have seen the sadness in her eyes as he spoke.  "Yes," she said only, remembering that in fleeing so soon, she would be leaving him behind.  _A pity Elrohir cannot come with me.  I would welcome his company, but he will have other tasks to attend to._

            When the two reached the House he took his leave of her.  "Aragorn will want to go over travel plans.  Again.  Despite the fact that Gandalf is actually leading this party."  The Elf signed in mock resignation.  "Honestly, Little Bird, I do not know how Men manage.  They plan and replan, and plan again…  As if once is not enough to get information into their thick skulls!  And my sister wants to spend her life with him.  By the Valar!"

            Wren laughed.  "I thought he was as a little brother to you."

            "So he is, which is why I feel no remorse for so taunting him."  With a quick hug and a jaunty wave, he disappeared into the House.

            Grinning, the half-Elf wandered towards a different wing of Elrond's House.  She wished to speak to the Hobbits again before their departure, and of late they had been very busy preparing for their journey.  After some time, she happened upon Frodo and Bilbo reclining on stone benches in a small courtyard, silently watching the spray of a nearby fountain, which by some magic of Elrond's was kept free of ice, despite the chilling temperatures.  Bilbo would, from time to time, scribe something in a small book at his side.

            She hovered just out of sight long enough to decide that she would not be interrupting, then stepped into the courtyard.  "Good afternoon, little Masters," she called lightly, startling them a little.

            Frodo looked up sharply, then relaxed when he saw who it was.  "Good afternoon, Lady," he replied, smiling.

            "Hullo, Wren!" Bilbo added, closing his book.  "And how are you, this miserably cold afternoon?"

            Wren laughed.  "I am as well as ever, and as restless.  'Miserably cold', dear Bilbo?  I suppose it is, though I'm afraid I have not noticed."

            "Oh?" the old Hobbit slyly replied.  "And what young Elven lord have you been walking with, then? "

            She missed the relevance of that question entirely – it went completely over her head.  "I was just talking with Elrohir for a while…why?"

            Frodo chuckled.  Bilbo said, "Never mind, Wren."

            Mystified, Wren shook her head and changed the subject.  "How goes the 'literary work of the age'?"

            "Slowly, seeing how I can't really write much new until Frodo's quest is over and he comes back to tell me about it."  Bilbo shrugged.  "I can only edit."

            She turned to Frodo.  "And how are you, Frodo?  A great deal is being asked of you in these dark times."  She sat down on a bench across from the two Hobbits, hoping there might be something she could say to help make his burden easier, but knowing that if there was, Elrond would already have said it.

            "I am well," he answered.  "Or, as well as can be expected, at any rate, knowing that in a few days I'll be starting on a journey with no foreseeable ending."  After a thoughtful moment, he added, "But I did volunteer, and so I suppose I am content at the moment.  Time is strange here, and our departure still seems years away, and rather unreal.  Though I imagine it will be real enough once we start."

            Wren gave him a comforting smile.  "That is, indeed, the truth of it, my friend.  For your sake we should wish these days to pass as slowly as possible."

            "We should, to be sure!" Bilbo commented.  "Yet you still have some envy for the Fellowship, I imagine."

            "Alas!"  She shifted on the cold stone seat, curling one leg under her and clasping her hands around the opposite knee.  "It is, of course, ridiculous, but I fear there is no help for it.  I would be gone from this Valley had I any choice."

            Frodo smiled at her, suddenly feeling strangely old.  "I used to think I wanted to travel away from the Shire and see distant lands.  Now, I would give a great deal to be back inside its familiar borders."  A cold wind whispered through the courtyard, stirring the naked branches of nearby trees, which clicked together like little bones, as if reinforcing the Ring-Bearer's distress.

            The half-Elf shuddered.  "Your words do not surprise me, but I fear I would still rather go than stay."

            Bilbo snorted and shook his head, but Frodo nodded.  "I suppose you might.  Elves are very different from we Hobbits – as much in our values as in appearances and histories!"

            Refsil chose that moment to come bounding up out of nowhere and leap onto the bench beside his Elven friend.  _The dear Hobbit is certainly very right,_ Wren mused, as the fox's actions leant credence to Frodo's words.

            "We would much sooner stay in our holes, safe an warm, than journey on any kind of quest, perilous or no," he continued, and ignored the pained look on Bilbo's face that met that statement.  "If journeying is your desire then as far as I'm concerned you may have it, and welcome!  But I would hope you find a safer Road than ours."

            Wren nodded and thanked him, and the three sat for some time in silence, letting the peace of Rivendell seep into their very bones.  In the days and weeks ahead, it would be a source of strength for all of them, even when it seemed all else was darkness.

            It was midafternoon, and the sky was just beginning to dim when Bilbo commented on Wren's idleness.  "It's strange how everyone else I've seen lately seems to be rushing about with endless tasks, yet here you sit, calm as a spring breeze.  Has no one given you anything to do?"

            She blinked at him a moment, shaken out of her thoughts, then remembered her earlier conversation with Elrohir.  "Yes, actually, I do have something I need to see to, and I doubt I shall have much time to work on it…"  Both Hobbits looked at her quizzically, and she quickly grasped at an explanation.  "Elrohir wants to continue my training as soon as possible, you see, so I doubt I shall have more than a few days to see to my own plans.  If you will excuse me, gentlemen?"  Rising fluidly from her seat, she bowed slightly, bade them farewell, and retreated into the cheerful glow of the Last Homely House.

*          *            *

            Wren did not work two days on the Moonstar cloak.  Rather, she labored for the rest of that day, all night, and into the next morning.  Twice she picked out the section she had just finished and started over, but by noon on the twenty-third of December, as the Sire-calendar would mark it, she had laid the cloak out on her bed to carefully examine the pattern.  The tiny diamonds and sapphires stitched in amongst the delicate mithril and gold threads caught the noon sun and scattered brilliant starbursts about the room.  The golden vines shone like fire, and the silver shade of the mithril wound about it, gentling the blaze.  The Moonstar shone as if plucked from the heavens – on the dark green fabric it looked like midnight in the deep forest.  She smiled.  It was not perfect – no stitching by her hands would ever be perfect – but she was pleased with the result.  The design was singularly hers, as was the making of the garment itself.  It was, perhaps, the one piece with which she had never asked for aid.

            With great care, she folded it and placed it on a shelf, then sat down on her bed, leaning against the soft pillows, massaging her sore, tired fingers.  _I fail to understand_, she thought, mournfully, _how some of Arwen's ladies can embroider day in and day out.  After barely twenty hours of such work my hands feel as if they should fall off!_  

            While she rested, she searched out dreams and visions that pertained to the nine companions, or to the war.  Many of the things she had Seen in the past had altered, even in her memory.  Things she knew she had Seen, many years ago – Elrond slain and Rivendell burning, cities to the south lying in ruins, great forests flattened and stained with Evil – were no longer there.  Shadows of those possibilities remained, but seemed more evenly balanced by other, more hopeful things that had wormed their way into her memories.

            She could See possible marriages, crownings, unions between kingdoms – there was still sadness, death, faded Elven kingdoms, and the possibility of the Great Destruction her visions had warned her of long ago.  Darkness was still far more likely, but Light was at least possible.

            _What can be done to tip the balance?  How can we of the Free Peoples give the Company the ability to overcome all darkness they meet?  Can it even be done?_

            Some hours later, still searching, lost inside her mind, Wren wandered from her room and out of the House, into the gardens.  All night she roamed silently through the glens and forests of the valley, and when she came to the fields, Asfaloth joined her, keeping pace beside her, watchful.  He knew better than to interrupt her thoughts, but hoped that if she roused from them, she might desire aid in sorting through them.  However, she never spoke, or even gave sign that she noticed his presence, and at dawn he left her and went about his own business.  The half-Elf gradually made her way back to the House.

            She did not come back to herself until she literally ran into Gandalf.

            Wren yipped in surprise, and the Wizard reached out to steady her before she fell over.  "Well!" he said.  "I was wondering if you were awake or not.  Though I expected you to stop or I would have moved.  What are you doing, Ever Child?"

            "Not paying attention, apparently."  She brushed imagined dust off her gown and grinned at him. "I was thinking."

            Gandalf arched a bushy grey eyebrow.  "Thinking?  I have seen Elves deep in thought carrying on several conversations at once.  Masters of doing more than one thing at once."

            "Dream-wandering, then."  Silent for a moment, she continued along the path, and Gandalf followed.  "Can anything be done to help them?" she asked at last.  "The Fellowship, I mean.  Can those of us left behind do nothing?"

            The Wizard considered her question for a long moment.  "Hope," he answered at last.  "Have faith, and keep believing that the quest _will_ succeed.  Never doubt, even when all about you loose hope."  She looked back at him, incredulous, and he smiled.  "It sounds like such a simple thing, but the potency of such things as faith and doubt might surprise you."

            "I suppose they might…" Wren sighed, disappointed.

            "If you were looking for something with a more visible outcome, I'm afraid I cannot help you, Wren.  We have spent weeks pouring over the same questions you have just asked.  And, while you sometimes make leaps of insight through your visions that defy even the Wise, I think this time you will have no better answers to them than we."

            She nodded, sadly.  "Alas, that seems to be true.  It is…frustrating."

            Much to her surprise, he _laughed_.  An open, hearty bark of amusement.  She stared at him.  "A mistress of understatement!  Dear child, Elrond should train you as a diplomat.  You are saying, of course, that being able to do nothing is driving you to the end of your wits, and things seem bleak and beyond helping."

            Smiling a little, she said, "Yes, I suppose I am."  With a sigh, she went on.  "Ah, well.  We have done all we can, I guess.  So, Mithrandir I suppose I shall-"

            "Gandalf!" Aragorn's call interrupted her, and she turned to see him and Legolas coming along the walk.  The Ranger gave Wren a quick nod of greeting, then continued.  "Lord Elrond wants to speak with us…all of us going on this quest who are not Hobbits.  He wishes you to be there to add anything he may have forgotten."  He smiled grimly.  "There are things he wants us to be aware of which, I suppose, he believes will terrify them out of going."

            "Though that might not be a bad option," Legolas added, sounding cheerful despite his words.

            Gandalf looked at him sharply.  "I thought it had been agreed that the Hobbits should go.  You never voiced any doubts before."

            "True – and I agree that they may indeed be helpful on this journey, for themselves as well as for the support they may provide the Ring-Bearer.  However, for their own sake, it is sad that they should be thrown into such tumultuous times."

            "Such could be said of the rest of us, as well," Gandalf commented, but he was in agreement with the Elf.  "I suppose we should oblige Master Elrond with our presence, then."  He turned to Wren.  "I would say 'Perhaps we can continue this conversation later,' but I fear later is rapidly becoming uncertain…"

            She waved away his apology.  "No need, Gandalf.  I was finished, and if there is anything else you feel needs said then it shall be up to you to find me or not as you see fit.  Gentlemen," she added, taking her leave of them with a quick bow. 

            "A moment, Wren," Legolas said, stopping her in mid-step.

            Slowly, she turned and looked up at him, and the playful wind picked up, blowing her shining hair into her face and whispering in her ear.  It spoke of an Elven King in a great forest to the east who sat enraged by his son's "presumptions" and "delusions of grandeur" and the folly of his accepting Elrond's request that he join a doomed quest.  Looking at that particular "presumptuous son," she was able to smile.  "Yes, Captain of Mirkwood?" she asked cheerfully.

            He smiled, but there was something shadowed in his eyes, as if his thoughts were elsewhere.  "The company – we nine – tomorrow we leave Imladris."

            Her smile faltered as he spoke, then faded.  "Yes."

            "It will be long ere we meet again."

            "Long and long," she whispered.

            He smiled slightly, and some of his discomfort seemed to ease.  He breathed deeply of the crisp, early winter air – a heavy sigh of contentment.  "Bright Elbereth, I do not wish to leave this place!  But this task must be done…"  Pulling his thoughts back, he continued.  "Lord Elrond has given us this evening – after our meeting – to spend entirely as we will, rather than in gloomy preparation, and tonight there will be a gathering in the Hall of Fire.  It would give this dark journey a brighter beginning if you would share a meal with me before we are away."

            Wren dropped into a slight bow and placed her hand over her heart.  "I would be honored, and most glad to do so, Legolas."

            The Wood Elf's smile deepened and relaxed entirely.  He reached out and gently touched her hair.  "Thank you, Wren," he murmured and abruptly turned and hastened after Gandalf and Aragorn.

            For several long minutes she stared after him, thoughtful.  Then, as one in a dream, she went to her rooms to change into something more elegant than the simple, straight, grey gown she was wearing.

            The raiment she chose was, in the end, almost as plain, for she decided to save elegance for the later gathering in the Hall of Fire.  She pulled a violet dress edged in pale green out of a chest made of dark wood and shook it out, for it had not been out of the chest for a very long time.  In her sadness during her exile from Arwen's friendship, she had worn few colors, and none that were bright or would draw attention.  Blues, greens, and greys alone she wore, but it was time for other shades to surface.  Quickly she changed, then braided her hair back, and realized, quite suddenly, that she knew not where to meet Legolas, or when.  

            "Well!" she said to herself.  "This is why most people think a bit farther ahead, silly girl.  You will not be much help to the Fellowship if you insist on forgetting to ascertain specific details."  However, she was not left to puzzle too long over her quandary, for after less than an hour there was a knock on the outer door of her rooms.  When she answered it, she found there, of all people, the Hobbit Merry!

            For a moment she blinked down at him in surprise.  "Master Merry!" she exclaimed at last.  "What, pray, brings you to my door?"

            He was grinning cheekily.  "I passed Legolas a short while ago, and he asked if I might come find you, and ask you to join him in the sun-room adjoining the guest rooms on the west side of the House."  He chewed his lip thoughtfully for a moment.  "And I imagine he assumed it would take me some time to find you, so you might want to wait a bit, seeing as I was able to find someone to point me in the right direction rather quickly," he added.

            "Oh," she answered weakly, at a bit of a loss.  Quickly she sobered.  "He should not have sent you.  You should be spending this time with your friends, savoring what time remains to you here."

            Merry shook his head.  "It's alright, I think.  I was walking anyway, taking a moment to myself.  And," he added hesitantly, "I had hoped to talk to you for a bit before we left."

            "Really," she mused.  "I am flattered, but why, may I ask?"

            He shifted his weight nervously.  "Just to thank you for being so nice to Pippin and me.  We've felt a bit in the way since we got here, but you always treated us as if we had every right to be involved.  That meant a lot – it was quite encouraging."

            Wren smiled gently down at the young Hobbit.  "I think I understand how you feel, Master Merry.  I have been in rather a similar situation most of my life.  But you Hobbits are quite fascinating, and I have enjoyed your company and will be sad to see you all go."  She patted him on the shoulder.  "Take heart, my friend!"  Grinning, she added, "I am not quite finished being encouraging."

            "Oh?  Good!  I should like to see what you come up with next."

            Laughing, she winked at him.  "You will, indeed!"  Suddenly she was thoughtful.  "Everyone will – and I wonder what some will think of it.  But for now, you should find your friends again.  If you all go to the Hall of Fire this evening, you will see me there."

            Slyly Merry grinned.  "For now you have someone else to attend to, eh?"

            "That," Wren admonished teasingly, "is none of your affair."  She shooed the cheeky young Hobbit on his way.  Almost as an afterthought, she retrieved the mithril circlet from a shelf and settled it on her brow.  It was not nearly as ornate as Elrond's, or even Arwen's (the twins refused all but the simplest pieces, and wore them only for their function of keeping their long hair out of their eyes), but it was finely crafted.  A curl of metal sat above each temple, and the mithril was wrought to resemble twisting vines weaving around behind her head.  The circlet arched downward from the spirals above her temples to a point above her brow, and in the v it created sat a single clear moonstone, which shone blue when the light was right.  Lately, she felt more comfortable facing other Elves when wearing it than when not – it made her feel she had a right to her place.  Though she knew Legolas did not care about that, she still, for some reason, wanted to be at least a little impressive.

            Collecting her scattered nerves, she drew a green cloak that matched the edging on her dress about her shoulders, and made her way toward the western wing of the House.  The sun had set by now, and the sun-room was dark but for a myriad of candles spread throughout the room.  The waxing crescent moon hung framed by the western windows, and to the east and overhead the sky was sprinkled with stars.  The Elven prince stood as she entered the room and motioned her to the chair across from him.

            She smiled as she crossed the room towards the small table, and gestured about her at the candles.  "What is all this?"

            "They look nicer in here than those big lanterns," he replied.  "And the housekeeper who helped arrange this," he added with some amusement, " wanted rid of them.  She said they were cluttering up the closets."

            Wren laughed, finding that a very reassuring response.  They both sat, and she looked over the contents of the table.  She was surprised that none of the dishes were recognizable to her, and even the wine seemed unfamiliar.  It was far more potent than any she'd ever tasted, though she usually tried to avoid wine, as it tended to make her visions wilder.  She also found she preferred the flavor of this vintage.  Setting her glass down, she looked a question at her host.

            Legolas laughed.  "It is possible, Wren, to explore distant places without ever leaving home.  I brought this wine from Mirkwood – a special vintage usually reserved for my father's house, though he occasionally will send some here.  The food required some wheedling.  Rivendell is apparently unfamiliar with Sylvan dishes, and until Elrond's meeting ended and I could help her, the housekeeper was at a bit of a loss."

            "And she is not primarily a cook," Wren reminded him.  "How was the meeting?  Any new revelations?"  She tasted one of the dishes, and found it absolutely delightful.

            "Not really, no.  He merely wanted to make sure we were entirely prepared."  He sighed, and pulled his golden hair back behind him.  "I do not blame him for his concern, but it is getting tiring." 

            "I imagine it is, but even with all the possible hazards, just imagine the places you will see, the distant lands you may travel to."

            Hearing the bare longing in her voice, he refrained from mentioning that there was a good chance none of them would return from this quest.

            They made short work of the exquisite meal – Wren found only one dish unpleasant – and soon sat peacefully sipping the wine.  Or rather, Legolas sipped the wine, and Wren allowed her attention to wander about the room.  She had set the wine aside some time ago, unwilling to risk a vision now.  Legolas surprised her by suddenly refilling her glass.

            He raised his glass and locked her eyes with his, pale blue-grey trapped by rich sapphire.  She lifted her own, mirroring him, still slightly bewildered.  "For the freedom of Arda…" he murmured, and she understood.

            "And the success and safety of the Fellowship," she added.

            He nodded, and tipped his glass, draining it.  Wren took a small sip, then, unwisely, drained hers as well.

            It was a grave mistake.

            The room suddenly tilted, and the light from the candles pierced through her eyes into her skull.  Her glass fell from her suddenly limp hand and shattered on the stone floor.  A violent shudder ran through her, and pain lanced through her mind as if it would split in two.  "Elbereth…" she gasped, clutching her head and doubling over.  Dimly she was aware of Legolas calling her name, but she could not answer.  The candlelight swam before her, and went black.

            _A forest.  Statues from an ancient civilization interspersed between the trees.  Farther in the sounds of battle rang out, and the vision focused in their direction.  Grotesque creatures, like some sort of cross between Orcs and giant Men, heavily armed, trampled through the area, hurrying to reach their brethren who were engaged in combat up ahead.  The scene shifted:  three individuals faced the much larger party of not-Orcs – a Man, a Dwarf, and an Elf.  The Dwarf and Man fought fiercely, and the Elf stood still, some distance off, firing arrow after arrow into their attackers.  But there were archers among this party as well.  He stood still too long, and a thick-shafted black arrow flew from nowhere, straight and true, and pierced his heart.  Blood blossomed on his breast, and as he froze in shock, a second arrow joined the first.  Not once did the Elf cry out – brilliant blue eyes stared wildly, and he twisted in agony, dropping to his knees.  As he fell, she saw his face clearly for the first time.  The Elf collapsed and lay still.  Wren felt herself screaming and lunged towards him.  He couldn't die!  She wouldn't let it happen – Legolas couldn't die…_

            The vision faded, and Wren came back into herself amid confusion.

*          *            *

            Elrohir was meandering through the House, as he often did when something was on his mind.  Like everyone else, he wished there was something more he could do for the Fellowship, but unlike most, he was wrestling with some rather unusual emotions.  When he had left the valley with his brother, on their errand before the arrival of the Ring Bearer, Wren had still been the childlike shadow he'd known all his life.  His return was met by an Elf-maid, calm as a breeze, and more self-assured than he had ever hoped to see her.  The change had been startling, and had reminded him that she, whom he had long treated as a sister, was only very distantly his kin.  That opened up several possibilities that he had never really considered before – he was slowly realizing that he was beginning to see Wren as something more than a dear friend.

            A terrified scream tore through his musings and he raced in the direction from which it had come, flinging open the door to the sun-room to a scene than enraged him instantly.  Wren was curled into a ball on the floor, clutching her head, sobbing wildly, and Legolas stood over her, hesitantly reaching for her, as if he feared to touch her.  Two chairs lay overturned, and the table, heavily laden, had been flung to one side.

            The Wood-Elf looked up as Elrohir entered, and the expression on his face killed any accusations Elrond's son might have made.  He did not enter in the midst of an attack on the Ever-Child, but in the wake of one of her visions.

            "What happened?" Legolas pleaded.  Desperately he needed to hear that this was not his fault, that he had not done anything to hurt her, but he was the only one present, who else could be to blame?

            "I could very well ask you the same question," Elrohir answered brusquely, kneeling behind Wren's shaking form.  

            Legolas crouched before them, and answered miserably.  "The wine…  We drank to the success of the quest, and emptied our glasses.  Then – I know not what happened.  She cried to Elbereth and held her head as if it pained her.  She did not move for a few moments, though she was shaking, and weeping, then she screamed and fell to the floor.  I did not think – I threw the table aside to reach her, but…  Not knowing what had happened, I feared to touch her, lest I make it worse."

            Elrohir looked up to explain and stopped, startled to see a single tear sliding down his friend's cheek.  

            "I am sorry…" The Sylvan Elf whispered.

            "It is not your doing, my friend," Elrohir assured him.  "Wren…part of why her mind is so torn between childish innocence and great wisdom is that she has powerful visions."  Wren's shaking had stopped – it seemed she was coming out of it.  "They are often very…unpleasant.  And violent."  He took her by the shoulders and rolled her over, pulling her partly onto his lap, cradling her head in the crook of his arm.  "Wren?" he asked.  

Legolas gently took her hand in his, but the contact caused the vision to resurface in the Half-Elf's mind.  She moaned, and pulled away.  "No," she whispered.  "Oh no…  It will not happen.  Eru, I will not let it happen.  No, no, no…"

            Startled, Legolas drew back, careful not to touch her again.  "Bright Elbereth…"  He stared at Elrohir.  "What -?"

            The Peredhel shook his head.  Why should Legolas's touch trouble her visions?  That was a strange thing, and Elrohir was as bewildered as his Sylvan friend.  "Wren, are you alright?" 

            She passed a hand across her eyes and tried to sit up.  The movement made her dizzy, but with Elrohir's support she managed.  "I…  I think so.  By the Valar…this cannot go on…"  Looking up at Legolas then, Wren saw the pain and worry on his face.  "Legolas…I am sorry.  Perhaps I should have told you sooner.  This was not supposed to happen now…"

            He shook his head.  "That does not matter.  You will be alright?"  She nodded.  "Then all is well."  Standing, he righted her chair.  "Can you stand?"

            "I…don't know."

            Looking down at Elrohir, who nodded in encouragement, Legolas held out his hand to assist her.  Wren swallowed hard, remembering what his touch had done a moment earlier, but Elrohir was already getting up, bringing her with him.  Given little choice, she took the proffered hand to steady herself. 

            Again the vision returned, but this time overlaying reality.  She could see crimson blood running down the wood-Elf's tunic, and shadow-arrows embedded in his chest…  With a small cry of dismay, she stumbled backwards into Elrohir, who took a firm hold on her shoulders to keep her from falling again.

            "I'm so sorry," Wren sobbed.  "It is too strong.  I should go until I can control it again."  She looked at the overturned table and shattered dishes strewn upon the floor.  "Thank you for dinner… This should not have happened…"  She wiped her tears on the sleeve of her gown and stepped away from Elrohir's support, careful not to move any closer to Legolas in doing so.

            "Can you manage?"  Elrohir asked.

            "I will soon find out."  With that, she carefully, and somewhat unsteadily, made her way to the doorway and out into the hall.  When she had gone as far as she could, she stumbled into the nearest room at hand, startling an Elf who was reading there.

            "What – Wren?" he asked, dropping his book.  "What happened?  Are you unwell?"

            She collapsed into a large, soft chair.  "I need Glorfindel.  Could you find him?  I do not have the strength to search the House…"  She could not stop shaking.

            He nodded.  "It may take some time," he warned, fetching a blanket from another chair and draping it over her lap.  

            "It matters not – I can wait."

            With another nod, he left.

            Wren drew the coverlet up around her shoulders and snuggled down into the chair.  Never had a vision exhausted her this badly – they seemed to be growing stronger.  _What will you do,_ she asked herself as sleep started to take hold of her, _if this happens out in the Wild?_  Weariness dragged her under before she had a chance to find an answer.

*          *            *

*note – I wanted to get the Fellowship out of Rivendell in this chapter so very badly, but it's simply going to be too long.  Argh.  Oh well…  on to chapter nine.


End file.
